


Chasing Sovngarde

by sparkly_butthole



Series: Of Stormcloaks and Sovngarde [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: And they believe in dying with a sword in your hand, Bears, But he's a Nord, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, DB isn't suicidal, Dragons, Love Confessions, Loyal Serana, M/M, Not really het, Past Balgruuf the Greater/Dragonborn, Post-Canon, Rough Sex, Serana/Dragonborn, Sort of Polyamory, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole
Summary: Ulfric, Serana, and Halfdan all carry their own secrets. Only time will tell how they become known.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak
Series: Of Stormcloaks and Sovngarde [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586839
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, to the ten of you who will read this. I started playing Skyrim again a few weeks ago and am hooked. I absolutely love Ulfric's character; he has so much depth, and he feels like such a tragic figure. Since the discourse surrounding him is so ugly, I decided to write this (and potentially two other fics) to hopefully paint him in a better light.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine.

They’re out of fresh water and they’ve been on their feet for most of the last two days, but things aren’t going all that terribly. Not compared to what it could be; terrible is relative around here. Always was, really; she’d once belonged to Molag Bal, after all. But she’s finding a whole new level of fuckery in the light of this world she’s reclaimed. 

The last of Volkihar’s vampires are getting annoying, for one.

For another, there’s the whole dragon thing.

She glances up at the drake’s newest screamed challenge. It’s still circling, but slowly getting closer. They’ve got maybe a minute, minute and a half tops before it’s on them. The glint of its scales in the sun momentarily blinds her, and pain lances through her head, bright and sharp. Deadly, if she lets it be.

Halfdan’s fireball draws her attention back to the ground. He’s giving up too much of it; this jagged formation with its word wall precariously balanced on top had been the perfect spot for an ambush. Her mortal companion is slowly backing toward the stone with no more room to maneuver. If he gets too close and absorbs the word, he’ll black out for a few seconds, and that will be a few seconds too long. 

She’s out of magicka, but she has to make her move soon or he’s toast. The asshole had left her with a single healing potion and no magicka potions, so she pulls her blade and charges in with a cry of rage. One of the vampires, a woman in the familiar blue robes of her father’s inner court, turns to her and continues her life-draining assault. Serana grins, feral, viciously glad she hadn’t taken Halfdan’s advice to free herself from undeath; the few precious seconds her enemy takes before she realizes her opponent isn’t mortal are her undoing. Unable to regain health, she goes down to a few sharp swings of Serana’s blade. 

One more left, this one a lower member of the court, but  she has nearly healed herself full from Halfdan’s life force. Halfdan himself is bent nearly double, protecting a stomach wound while trying to keep an eye on his enemy and simultaneously avoid the call  of the word behind him. He’d once described it to her as compulsory. Like moth to flame, he’s drawn to it. That’s the only reason they’re stupid enough to climb to these impossible heights, and since there’s nothing compulsory about it for Serana, she sometimes worries a bit about her own sanity. 

The earth shakes with the force of the dragon landing. She’d hoped there wouldn’t be room for it on this isolated little slab of rock, but there’s apparently just enough, and that means she is now in danger from both directions as well. Her shoulder blades itch with that creepy feeling of being watched, of being prey to an animal far wilder and more dangerous than she could ever hope to be. Three years in, she’s still not used to it.

“Halfdan!” she yells, and rejoices inside as he raises his head, tired and in pain but defiant. She changes her stance, lining herself up, and gives the nod, hoping there will still be a few seconds remaining before she has to turn around and face the dragon. Hoping, too, that she won’t suddenly find herself in its unforgiving jaws. 

Halfdan Shouts Serana’s undead sister right onto her freshly-sharpened blade. The vampire screams, all agony and rage, and jerks herself off of the sword only to stumble right into an inferno. With the dragon focused on her, Serana  makes a break for Halfdan and helps him limp around the corner, giving them a moment’s reprieve. 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck, _ ” Halfdan pants. He downs a potion and leans back against the outer side of the wall. “Remind me why I still do this?” 

“I always assumed you were batshit insane,” Serana says with a shrug. “Not sure what that makes me, but at least I’m still here.”

The ground rumbles again as the dragon takes flight, undoubtedly searching for his lost prey. She hunkers down into the shadows, pushing Halfdan further up against the rock. He gives her an annoyed look.

“What? I don’t want to be roasted to death while you sit in this lovely little alcove, relaxing in the warmth of my barbecue.”

“Will you stop with that? Drama queen.”

“You want serious, bring your husband.”

Halfdan grimaces. “I’d love to, only I don’t much like being Shouted off mountaintops.”

Tickled by that mental image, Serana giggles, even as she watches the sky for signs of the drake returning. They’ll have to move quickly if they have any hope of making it out of here without having to fight it.

“He’s not ancient. Not even elder. We can take him,” Halfdan says, checking the abdominal wound for closure. It still bleeds sluggishly, not quite fully healed. They need to get out of here as soon as possible. 

“He breathes fire,” Serana points out. 

“Sure, but - “

“And we just fought two vampires.”

“Three, and - “

“And you’re dead on your feet.”

“But - “

“ _ Barbecue _ .”

Halfdan sighs and chews at his lip. “We’re going to win.”

“You’re seriously going to keep fighting, aren’t you.”

He grins up at her. There’s blood on his teeth. Can he contract vampirism like that? She doesn’t know. 

“You really fucking are.” She shakes her head incredulously. “You and  Stormcloak deserve each other,” she mutters. 

“Yep,” he agrees easily, then stands up, unsteady on his feet. Serana doesn’t reach out to help him. “You ready?”

“Like you even have to ask,” she responds, then pounces back out onto the platform.

The dragon, eager to continue the fight, spots them almost immediately. She aims a lightning bolt at it in an attempt to draw its attention while Halfdan peeks around the corner of the wall with his bow. It’s not his preferred weapon, but the last master vampire they’d fought had done some sort of longer-lasting magic drain on him  that Serana couldn’t even recognize , and they can’t really be picky right now.

The dragon screams as Halfdan’s bow gets a lucky shot through its eye. Half-blind, it’s forced to the ground. The crazy must be rubbing off on her, as much time as she spends with Halfdan, because Serana cries out and attacks it with her sword raised like a true Nord , like she’s six foot five and made of solid muscle . The blade whistles through the frigid air as she brings it down against the dragon’s neck. Her nerves catch fire with the shock of the weapon glancing off the dragon’s scales; this is why Serana hates fighting them,  or it’s at least one reason,  because she’s winded from the attack and her arm’s made of rubber now, but she’s done it no damage whatsoever.

Somehow Halfdan, injured and swaying on his feet, is having better luck than her. He knows right where to aim between the scales, and he’s using those nasty barbed ebony arrows that she knows from  painful  experience are among the  most effective . An arrow buries itself in the creature’s neck, a few inches near her, and blood flies with a wet  _ thwack _ . 

There isn’t much time to express her awe for his accuracy or her dismay that he’d aimed so close to her because the dragon is slinking around in a move entirely too agile for its size and giving up on its fiery Shout; instead, it grabs her bodily in its enormous jaws. She screams and flails her weapon against the side of its head, aiming for its other eye, but she’s stuck like a chew toy in its mouth, and closes her eyes as its teeth start to put pressure on her armor. 

Serana knows what it’s like to die, and there are definitely worse  ways than this, but not by much. She fights for all she’s worth, but it’s Halfdan who saves her, her poor mortal companion, fearless as ever. He Shouts his own frost breath at the thing, causing it to shudder and drop her. 

Serana takes a few steps back to right herself and prepares an ice spike, but the drake’s attention is on Halfdan now, who has dropped everything in favor of that cursed dagger he’d gotten in yet another ill-advised deal with a Daedric prince. She watches, astonished, as he slices at its neck, aiming for the spot he’d hit before. She does her best to distract the drake so it doesn’t chew at him as well. The freezing cold of her magic finally finishes the job, and together they bring it down. 

Watching him absorb the dragons’ souls always makes her feel helpless. He crumples to the ground as the whorls of energy surround him and then force themselves into him - not into his body but into his very  _ essence _ . He’s always managed to avoid throwing up, at least in front of her, but this is the worst she’s seen him, and it isn’t long before he’s on his knees and vomiting. 

She steps around the dragon and reaches for him when he seems stable enough. He gratefully accepts her hand and stands up, then immediately begins to stagger toward the wall behind them. 

“No! You’re in no shape for that now. You need to rest!”

He turns to look at her, jaw tightening. “Didn’t come this far only to leave empty-handed,” he grits out. 

She shrugs helplessly when he is once more brought to his knees by the force of the word entering his mind, a process less violent but somehow more violating than the dragon’s soul, or so he’d described it to her once. 

“You gods-damned stubborn asshole,” she mutters. 

This time she leaves him to it, allowing him to rest with his head pressed against the cold stone wall while she figures out their next move. They’re out of fresh water, nearly out of food, and still two days in the wilderness from Windhelm. She can find them untainted water easily enough, but the dragon has hunted the surrounding area into the ground, and unless she can find them a bandit hideout with some stockpiles, he’s going to get too weak to walk all the way home. She’d always told him to train more with Colette at the College, that having a better healing spell would save his life someday, but the man had only rolled his eyes and said how annoying she was.

When he finally stumbles over to her, Serana forces him to show her the wound. It’s red around the edges; her undead sibling must’ve had an enchanted blade. She makes sure he can stand on his own before finding and looting the body, but his grimace tells her everything she needs to know anyway.

“ _ Shit _ ,” she hisses, showing him the weapon. It’s daedric and coated in poison, potentially cursed, and it’s possible that it’s also tainted with vampire blood. Seething, she wishes the woman had died slower. “We need to find shelter and you need to rest.”

“I’m already… fuck, five days behind schedule. Ulfric is waiting for me,” Halfdan pants. The way he’s bending over and pressing on his abdomen doesn’t bode well for making it home any time soon, though. She knows that he knows it, too. 

“Let’s find a cave nearby. Or a bandit hideout, if we can find an abandoned one.”

“Ser - “ he starts, sounding exasperated, but is cut off by the roar of a mountain bear. 

They look at each other, alarmed. Halfdan’s blue eyes are wide and bloodshot, he can barely stand, and she’s not in great shape herself. 

“Let me take care of it,” she pleads lowly. “You can’t right now. Please, Halfdan, don’t fight me on this.”

He nods and ducks back behind the wall. She sends a prayer of thanks to whatever Divines might be watching them that he actually listened to her for once, but Serana is also well aware that he wouldn’t have done that if there were any other choice. She has to beat this bear before it finds Halfdan because he won’t have a chance.

The bear climbs the last of the rocks just as Halfdan is crouching out of sight. Based on its size and disposition, it appears to be a new mom, which makes her three times as dangerous. They must be in her territory, and she must be clever indeed to have hidden from the dragon for this long. Now she wants her territory back, and Serana can hardly blame her. 

But this is life and death - not as much for her, but for Halfdan, and for him, she’d do almost anything. 

Serana raises her weapon one last time and screams a challenge. The bear rises on her hind legs and bellows back, loud in the cold mountain air. She readies her sword as it charges, prepared to swing… not yet, not yet… _ now!  _

The bear makes a choked noise deep in her throat but doesn’t back down, despite the bleeding gash in her chest. Unfortunately, the cut didn’t hit a major artery or organ, and she’s even more pissed. Serana’s eyes flash as she hits the wound with a directed bolt of electricity, then barely manages to escape a swiping claw. She can hear it  _ whish _ through the air right next to her ear. She ducks and pivots, swinging the sword once again in the hope of bringing it down quickly. 

She  _ whoops _ with joy as she feels the blade slice through an organ - a lung, she thinks - but when she tries to pull the blade out, it sticks in the viscera just a second too long and is ripped free of her grip. 

The clatter of the blade hitting the stone seems loud to her ears, perhaps because of the dead silence that follows, like the bear is just as surprised as she is. When Serana looks at the bear, there’s a hungry look in her eyes, like she knows she’s probably finished but is determined to take this petty human along with her. 

Serana brings her hands up and prepares the strongest bolt she’s ever attempted, ready to stand her ground one last time, when she hears two  _ thunks _ in a row and the bear drops to the ground, spent.

Halfdan waves at her from around the wall, a tired smile on his face. “You’re welcome!” he manages before collapsing in a heap. 

Thankfully, the bear’s cave is not far from their current position. It doesn’t take her long to find it, and she’s able to half-drag, half-carry her companion down to it. She gets their equipment set up, two uncomfortable leather pallets and thin fur covers. There is plenty of firewood nearby, thank the heavens, enough to keep them warm for the coming night. Hopefully, he can heal a bit and make it to Windhelm on his own two feet.

She’s gently easing him into a sitting position, ready to feed him the meagre amount of soup they can spare, when he finally climbs back to full consciousness.

“Serana,” he groans, shooting her a pathetic look of annoyance. With his pale face and sunken cheeks, he manages to look no more threatening than a toddler throwing a tantrum. “You can stop mothering me. I got it.”

She places a hand on his chest when he tries to get up. When he doesn’t fight, she knows she’d been right about the state of his health. “I don’t understand you men sometimes. Can’t you just admit you’re out of the fight? I don’t even know how I’m going to get you home.”

“Steal a horse and drag me on it, I guess,” Halfdan mutters resentfully. “And it’s not a man thing. Have you ever fought with Lydia? I Shouted that woman halfway down High Hrothgar and she refused to let me heal her. That woman should’ve been dragonborn, as tough as she is.”

“Obstinate. You mean obstinate. Anyway, you joke, but I have Ulfric to worry about. If something happens to you, that man will kill me. I’m surprised he lets me accompany you as it is, and I suspect he only does that because of… “ She gestures at his supine body, lax with lack of energy. “Someone has to.”

“What are you talking about?” he mumbles, ignoring the… insult? Insulting or not, it’s the truth: Halfdan should’ve been named Halfsane. He needs a handler. She can’t imagine how he survived prior to Helgen. “Ulfric adores you.”

“If that’s how he treats people he ‘adores,’ I’d hate to see how he treats his enemies,” she says with a shudder.

“Oh trust me, you really would.” He grimaces in pain, attempting to stretch. Blood flows sluggishly out of the wound in his abdomen. 

“Will you stop? You’re going to get an infection.”

“Well, lucky for you, I still have a cure disease potion left in my pack. So. Yay?”

Serana mutters curses under her breath as she digs through his pack. She doesn’t bother asking why he hadn’t mentioned that before. 

“Hey, if you keep feeding me potions, maybe you’ll be able to shoulder my pack on the way home.”

“Halfdan,” she says, closing her eyes and praying to the Divines for patience, “the only reason you carry more than I do is because you’re wearing enchanted boots, but more importantly, you never ask me for help.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know why you put up with me.”

“I don’t either,” she responds , too tired for anything but honesty . 

Halfdan watches her work for a while. His eyes are nearly closed when she pulls the bandage taut, and then he sits up and screams right in her ear. 

Serana glares at him, but she’s concerned about how  pale he’s gotten. The bandage is still clean and white, but the wound clearly hurts him. 

“Hey,” she soothes, helping him lie back down, “be still. There’s not much I can do for you, but you’re not going to help yourself if you keep moving around.”

His eyes are closed, teeth gritted from the pain. She hates seeing him this way, hates how often she has to watch him get into trouble and be unable to fix things for him afterward. 

“This is why Ulfric doesn’t come with me anymore,” Halfdan says roughly, eyes still shut. 

“I don’t understand,” Serana says slowly. “Why?”

He cracks an eye open and gives her a lopsided smile. “Because he can’t stand to see me do this to myself over and over again.” 

Serana stares at him, floored. “Were you reading my mind?”

“Nah,” he says before taking a deep breath and blowing it slowly through his nose. “I just know how the people that love me think. I’ve heard the same thing often enough.”

Now she’s amused. “And how do you know I love you? Half the time I can’t stand you.”

He blindly points a finger at her. “That’s how.”

Serana rolls her eyes, though he can’t see it. “That makes no sense.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

She can’t, that’s the thing. Somewhere along the way, she’s come to care deeply for this crazy Nord, the one who’d rescued her from her life of horrors. It’s not romantic, not really - he belongs to another person, Skyrim’s High King, no less - but it’s been enough to keep her by his side, regardless of his shenanigans. 

Her silence is telling. Halfdan grins, soft like he knows a secret, and Serana can’t help it. She leans in and kisses him. 

He breathes out through his nose, a sigh of relief if she’s reading him right. She doesn’t linger or push it, just softly touches his lips with hers, opens her mouth a bit and chases him before pulling back. 

His eyes stay closed for some time. She feels embarrassed, suddenly, but she doesn’t regret it, either. 

“What…” he finally says, opening his eyes, a question in them, “What was that for?”

“I… don’t actually know,” she admits. “I just felt… I don’t know. Thank you, I guess.”

“Thank me for what?”

“For saving me.”

He gives her a thoughtful look. “Thank you kisses don’t go like that.”

She feels her face flush and she turns away to tend the fire. “Ulfric is going to kill me,” she mutters. 

Halfdan grabs her face in his hand. “Hey, look at me. You’d be surprised.”

“No, I’m not going to have a threeway with you, so don’t ask.”

He lies back on the bedroll, shaking from the effort of holding himself up, but still laughing. “That’s not what I meant.”

She lies next to him on her own bedroll. It’s going to be a long couple of days - she’s not used to camping like this for more than a few hours, and  _ fuck  _ is her back going to be sore. 

“So explain it to me,” she finally says. “As much as we’ve been through, I still don’t know how the two of you even met, let alone got together. I mean, I’m guessing the thane of the nine holds and the dragonborn besides would meet regardless… oh.  _ Oh _ . You were at Helgen together. Did you meet there?”

“Sort of,” he says sheepishly. “I mean, obviously yes.  As far as I know - I don’t remember a thing from my life before waking up in that wagon.  That’s the first time I saw him anyway. We met… officially… uh, later that night.”

She glances at him, made curious by the tone of his voice. “What do you… wait. Wait a second. Surely you didn’t bang the  _ king _ on the day of your almost-execution.”

“He wasn’t the king then,” Halfdan mutters petulantly, but he doesn’t get out any more excuses because Serana is dying of laughter. She laughs for so long Halfdan joins in. 

“Okay,” she eventually gets out between snickers, “so you fucked. How did you end up in a relationship? And how do you know he wouldn’t mind that I kissed you?”

“I kissed you, too,” Halfdan reminds her. He’s gotten somber quickly. She hates putting that expression on his face, but she’s too curious to back out of the conversation now. “It was… complicated,” he starts. “I was… a member of the Stormcloaks, sure, but I was also his consort, if you want to call it that.”

“Do  _ you  _ want to call it that?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t know what we were to each other. Comfort when the other needed it. Our paths would have been so much lonelier had we not had each other. Dragonborn and king-in-waiting, both destined to change the world. No one else could understand how deeply isolating that can be.” He turns to her so that they’re staring at each other face to face. “I know you’d try. Lots of people did. Even… “ He sighs. “Only Ulfric got it.”

“But you weren’t even known as the dragonborn then, when you met. When you… “

“Well, that’s just how it started. You wanted to know how it continued.”

“Sure.”

He smiles at her, a sad, bittersweet thing. “You know he and Balgruuf the Greater were rivals their whole lives? Well, I fell for them both.”

She stares at him incredulously. “You really are a madman.” How in the hell he could think that a good idea is well beyond her. 

“They didn’t care, though. Neither of them did.” He sounds shocked, like it’s still a surprise after three years and change. “I belonged to Ulfric, they both knew that. I think… I think Balgruuf knew he would win the war, too. That Ulfric was always destined for greater things than he was.”

“You loved him,” she says gently. “Is that not the greatest thing a person can have?”

He chuckles and reaches out to take her hand. “So philosophical, Serana. Never knew you had it in you.”

“Let’s just say I’m feeling sentimental.”

He squeezes her hand. “That’s fair.”

“But Balgruuf died in the war, right? I’m not exactly up on current events, but I’m sure I heard that somewhere.”

“Balgruuf died by my hand.”

For a moment, she is struck utterly speechless.  “Oh, no,” she murmurs, reaching out to pull him close. He moves his warm body against hers without complaint. “I’m so sorry, Halfdan.” How horrible that must have been for him. She can’t even imagine.

“He asked for it. He could’ve gone to Solitude and lived in the Blue Palace comfortably. Well, assuming Ulfric would let him stay there after everything… but I think he would have. At my request if nothing else , though Ulfric is not a cruel man, and I don’t think it would’ve come to that. A hard man, but not cruel . But Balgruuf made his choice, and I did my best to give him a good death.”

Serana isn’t sure what to say. She just runs gentle fingers through his hair until he’s ready to speak again. 

“Anyway,” he says, sounding subdued, “it took me a while before I could even look Ulfric in the face. He knew it, too; the man gave me as much space as I needed, if you can believe that. He told me that I’d never be his jarl, that he’d never take that from Balgruuf, that he’s only my king.  But he  _ is _ my king. Was from the moment I saw him. ”

“Wow. That is a surprise, I’ll admit.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “When I came back, I told him he had to be better.”

“Oh man, how did he take that? I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

“It went about as well as you’d expect, but he did. He made it a point to show that Skyrim was ours, but that any allies who wanted to join our fight were welcome to it.  That anyone who hated the thalmor could join the ranks.  That anyone who wanted to adapt to the Nord way of life were welcome to be here . He’s a traditionalist, but… he only wanted to protect our way of life. Ulfric was sick of fighting for others; he wanted to fight for  _ us _ for once.”

“I… can sort of understand that,” Serana says slowly. “My father… well, you know what I am. I can’t say I’m saddened by doing what we had to do, but it was nice having a family of people who were like you. I wouldn’t have chosen what happened to me had I been given the choice, but I became what I became and it was comforting to be surrounded by those who understood.”

“Yeah,” Halfdan responds. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to sleep between your boobs.”

“I wish I could say I didn’t see that coming, but that would be a lie.”

“You love me.”

“In my own way, yes. Now get some sleep.”

When he awakens from a restless sleep with a burning fever the next morning, though, with clouds on the horizon and freezing wind blowing from the north, she knows she might have some tough decisions to make soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Halfdan realizes some things, Ulfric gets a rude awakening, and no one knows what to do about it.

After four days without sleep - four fucking  _ days _ \- and an emergency visit to the palace healer, Halfdan  _ finally _ faceplants into his own bed. Ulfric awakens with a low groan, and he is ever the grumpy bear of reputation when he’s tired, but Halfdan figures he’ll be forgiven, under the circumstances. 

Strong, warrior’s arms pull him close. The chill leeches from his bones as he’s drawn, puppet-like, underneath the furs and against his husband’s naked chest. It’s so comfortable here, Halfdan might never leave.

“Two weeks.” Ulfric’s deep voice rumbles like a purr against Halfdan’s forehead. 

“Mm-hmm,” he hums once there’s no other forthcoming information. Then there’s that pause, the one that means Halfdan is supposed to fill in the blanks himself, which he does, because they’re nothing if not predictable. “You were worried.”

“Don’t you think I should be?” Ulfric asks quietly, his tone betraying the fear he must’ve felt when Halfdan hadn’t returned, but his fingernails are gentle against Halfdan’s back, writing little invisible circles and curlicues on his skin. 

Halfdan knows the thalmor are out there, that they’ve connected the dragonborn to Ulfric’s new blushing husband, and that means he’s in a lot more danger now than he’d been in before. But they both know that Ulfric will never stop Halfdan from chasing… well. From chasing; Ulfric doesn’t need to know the half of it. 

“Ulfric,” Halfdan murmurs, which turns into a thirty second yawn. “I haven’t slept in nearly four days. Can it wait?” In truth, it doesn’t really matter; he’s fading so fast only a spell meant for the undead could keep him up much longer.

“Yes. Sleep,” Ulfric commands. Halfdan wants to say he’s sorry because he knows that Ulfric won’t get back to it himself, but there’s nothing he can do but fall into night’s warm embrace. 

He doesn’t make it down to the palace proper until mid-afternoon the next day. Ulfric is in the war room discussing military training exercises with Galmar, who’s returned from Riften earlier than expected.

“Several Empire spies have been caught in the Rift these past few weeks,” he explains when Halfdan asks. “We need to get to the bottom of it.”

“The thalmor wouldn’t dare send the Empire back to Skyrim,” Ulfric says confidently. “We’ve driven them out, kept them out, and they’re weak. They were always weak, and the thalmor know it. No, the Empire itself sent them here.”

“Why haven’t they made overtures towards us, then? Testing the waters, is that it? Seeing how weak  _ we _ are?”

Halfdan looks between them and tries not to yawn. Galmar turns and really gets a good look at him, dressed as he is in house furs and looking like a dragon had dragged him here. “What the hell’s going on with  _ you? _ ” he asks bemusedly. 

Ulfric answers for him. “Nothing good, of that I can assure you,” he says, clearly annoyed. “Two  _ weeks  _ he was gone, doing Gods know what.”

“You married him,” Galmar points out, biting his lip in amusement when Halfdan can no longer hold back a yawn. “You knew what he was.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me that my dick leads me around everywhere?” Ulfric mutters. 

“And your desire for power.”

Ulfric makes a comical O face. Halfdan honestly can’t believe Galmar would just come out and say something like that. Man always did have dragonscale balls.

“You two do know I am right here, yes?” 

“I hated you at first,” Galmar confides, as though Halfdan hadn’t already known that. “This man would’ve risked it all for you, and I just couldn’t see why.”

Halfdan frowns down at his toe, attempting to overextend it in hopes of working through a cramp. “And you do now?” 

Galmar scoffs. “Cut from the same cloth, the both of you. Absolute batshit.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that word used to describe me. Not even in the past week,” Halfdan mutters. 

“And yet you followed me into the fray time and again,” Ulfric points out. “Power hungry and all. What does that make you?”

Halfdan rolls his eyes. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one, either.”

“Perhaps you should go eat something if you’re just going to be a distraction,” Ulfric says without looking at him. 

“I’m so happy to see you, too,” he says, voice laced with sarcasm. 

“We’ll talk later,” his husband adds, making eye contact, and that particular look never bodes well for Halfdan. Or rather, it does, just in a very specific manner and after a lot of arguing. 

“My king,” Halfdan murmurs with a half-sarcastic bow, but his face is flushed and his heart beating far more rapidly than it has any reason to.  _ It really doesn’t take much with him _ , he thinks ruefully. 

Jorleif settles down with him in the Great Hall. It’s nice to have the man’s company, especially since he seems to be able to tell when Halfdan needs to wake up before he’s able to be a human being. Not like that priest from the temple, who talks and talks and doesn’t ever shut up about how he’s been worshipping Talos his whole life and isn’t about to stop now. The kid’s no older than twenty-five at most and has never known a day of struggle in his entire life; what the hell would he even know about the free worship of their God and what fighting for it means? 

There’s fresh milk and snowberry mash, cabbage soup and smoked salmon for dinner, and by the time he’s eaten it all, he feels like he’s finally woken up from a month-long dream. Maybe he  _ had _ run himself a little too ragged this time around. 

_ Can’t wait for Ulfric to say I told you so, _ he thinks, hoping that his husband doesn’t tie him to the bed and then conveniently forget to untie him until he’s promised to stay home. 

It’s ill-advised for the king’s partner to leave the palace in house clothes, defenseless in the cold, but Halfdan does it anyway. He visits Niranye and Ambarys at the Cornerclub, appreciating their unassuming presence even more than that of Jorleif. There are always eyes in the Palace, and Ulfric can’t help but make Halfdan more than a little on-edge sometimes. The dark elves are just happy to see a Nord who accepts them for who they are, and their brown eyes don’t stare into his soul like a certain set of hazel ones do. 

Serana is teasing Calder when he visits Hjerim. He doesn’t know Calder as well as she does, but Serana has certainly taken a shine to the man. Halfdan isn’t sure if he’s jealous or not, or if he has a right to be given his own situation. It’s nice to see such a wide smile on her face, though. 

“Good to be out of the sun, isn’t it?” he asks, sitting down at the table next to them. 

“Sun? I don’t remember seeing much of that lately. Thank the Divines.”

Calder side-eyes him. “Why are you dressed for bed?” 

Serana’s eyes gleam as she grins. “Yes, my _ lord, _ why  _ are _ you dressed for bed? Did Ulfric really give it to you today?” 

“Serana!” Calder exclaims, scandalized, but Halfdan waves him off, used to it by now. 

“Hardly,” he says dryly. “The man takes his job entirely too seriously.”

“Trust me, I know. He needs to spend more time with you. Calm you down a little.”

“If you think that’s what Ulfric’s presence does to me, you’re not paying much attention,” he laughs. “I love him more than I know how to say, but he’s a hard man to be with sometimes. Has a death wish, too, I’m pretty sure.”

“You Nords really are something. What is it your pet vampire used to say?  _ May you die with a sword in your hand? _ You’re all nuts.”

“That’s the best way to die, though,” Calder insists, and Halfdan agrees with a vigorous nod.

“ _ Nuts.” _

Halfdan just grins, happy to be home despite his oft-restless nature, at least for the moment. 

He leaves a few hours later. It’s pitch dark out and the wind is screaming, nearly blowing his small frame off its feet. By the time he makes it to the palace after five scant minutes, he’s shivering and more than ready for a hot bath.

Ulfric is waiting for him.

“Oh no,” Halfdan groans, stepping into their suite. “We’re doing this now?” 

“We’re doing it now,” Ulfric confirms. “How long are you going to continue to risk your life like this? Until you’re nothing more than an unrecognizable, charred corpse in the snow?”

Halfdan grimaces as he sits down on their bed. “That’s… an unnecessary image to put into someone’s head at this time of night, but reminds me - maybe we should move somewhere with a little better weather. Why is it always so fucking miserable around here?”

“I’m serious,” Ulfric scolds. 

“When are you not?” Halfdan rolls his eyes and lies back on the bed, enjoying the feeling of soft fur underneath his head. Nothing compares to his husband’s warm, broad chest, though, and he beckons for Ulfric to come to him.

Ulfric remains unmoved by the window. 

“You’re too far,” Halfdan complains. “C’m’ere.”

“Halfdan, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

_ I’m aware _ , Halfdan thinks.  _ That’s both the problem and the reason.  _

Out loud, he says, “And what do you think will happen to you when you take the fight to the thalmor, huh? Do you mean to come home from that fight?”

“I’m certainly going to try. But that’s different. You’ll be with me then.”

“Is that what this is about?” he asks, glancing over at his husband. “It’s only okay if I die if it’s with you?”

“It is honorable to die in battle if it’s for something you believe in - “

“But you don’t get to decide what causes _ I _ believe in,” Halfdan interrupts angrily, picking himself up out of bed and walking toward Ulfric. “I told you Skyrim needed me, needed  _ us _ to be a better place.”

Ulfric bares his teeth, pulled inexorably into the argument like he always is. “What do you think I’m doing all day? Gallivanting around with beautiful women, fighting dragons like some hero of old? I’m trying to rule this country!” 

Incredulous, Halfdan struggles for something to say for a few moments. Ulfric knows full well that Skyrim needs them both for what they do. 

And there’s Sovngarde, of course. 

“You wish it was you,” Halfdan realizes, wondering why he hadn’t seen it earlier. “You want to be me. Why?” he asks, completely baffled. “You think I enjoy putting myself in danger like that?”

It’s Ulfric’s turn to stare like Halfdan has two heads. “You sure act like it!” he eventually says, exasperated, eyebrows high on his forehead. Halfdan notes that he doesn’t deny the rest. 

“Ulfric,” he groans, putting his head in his hands. “You don’t know… “ He stops. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Ulfric’s fucking right, that’s the thing. It’s more complicated, of course, but Halfdan’s a little off in the head - it kind of goes with the territory. Nobody carries fifty-plus dragon souls and remains sane. Explaining that would likely only get him into more trouble, though. Ulfric would understand some of it, but not all of it, and the latter might actually get Halfdan killed at his husband’s more-than-capable hands.

“What don’t I know?” Ulfric asks, deceptively soft, sensing weakness. 

Halfdan throws his hands up, frustrated. “I don’t know why you think I should be any less… this isn’t about  _ renown _ . Or power. It’s about doing what’s right, and what has to be done. I know you’re a better man than that.”

Ulfric clenches his jaw and takes a step forward, getting in Halfdan’s space. His face is red and eyes dilated; Halfdan’s willing to bet that he’s hard in his furs. The thought nearly brings him to his knees. He doesn’t want to push the argument to its conclusion just yet, though; something about these fights always gets his blood pumping in the best way, and he wants to enjoy it. Cut from the same cloth, indeed.

“It seems to me that you want to get yourself killed. Otherwise, you’d be at my side ruling the kingdom the way the king’s husband is supposed to do.”

“I suppose it’s okay if there are dragons just wandering about the countryside. Keeping the man who is best suited to hunting them down inside so he can… what, frolic around the court like a whore? Is that what you want from me? What do you think I’d do here, anyway? I’m hardly a statesman.”

“You’re respected throughout the realms,” Ulfric grits out. “You’ve been to Sovngarde and come back - “

And there it is. 

“I’m not damaged enough to be bothered with that,” Halfdan hisses, entirely too defensive. And what kind of man is he, that he can say such a hurtful thing without wincing? All because Ulfric’s words hit too close to home, just not in the way he thinks?

Ulfric’s eyes blaze, though he doesn’t yet reach out to touch Halfdan. “You’d better be careful how you speak to me,” he says, low and dangerous. 

“Or what? You’ll throw me against the wall and fuck me until I’m walking sideways the next day? We both know that’s what you’re going to do anyway.”

Ulfric is turning purple now, getting more angry with each passing moment. The spark deep in his eyes gives Halfdan the same kind of thrill he gets from staring down a dragon. Ulfric is a deeply dangerous man, and Halfdan can’t help finding it irresistible. 

“Fine. Should we just skip the rest of it? Want me to bow down to you now? Get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness? My  _ king _ ,” Halfdan growls, getting on his knees and bowing until his head touches the floor. His cock is hard between his legs, pressing uncomfortably against his furs. 

Ulfric pulls him up by the hair one-handed and slams him against the palace’s stone wall, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasps and Ulfric takes advantage, kissing him, intense with the things he has never found the words for. Halfdan moans into it as he presses himself up against Ulfric, desperately seeking some friction. Ulfric chews at his bottom lip, biting until Halfdan can taste the coppery tang of iron. He’s desperately hard now, aching and hot in his garments. 

“Please,” he whimpers when Ulfric gives him a moment to breathe, pride dissipated into thin air in a matter of moments. “I need you.”

Ulfric searches his eyes and must find what he’s looking for because he nods tightly and lets Halfdan loose. “Get your clothes off,” he says roughly. 

Halfdan doesn’t waste a second doing as he’s told. He gasps in relief once his cock is free, hanging loose and vulnerable between his legs. Ulfric manhandles him onto hands and knees on their bed, and Halfdan lets him maneuver him into whatever position Ulfric wants to take him in. 

Ulfric is rough and perfunctory in his preparations, but Halfdan loves the sting. It reminds him of their first night together, mere hours after they’d nearly lost their lives in Helgen, the slickness of the cooking oil on those callused fingers, so big and overwhelming inside of him. It makes him feel alive, and right now it’s exactly what he needs.

Ulfric enters him swiftly, thrusting hard enough to make him shout. It’s all he can do to hold on to reality when they’re like this; Ulfric fucks him like they’ll never get another chance every time, no matter how gentle or brutal his ministrations are. Halfdan loses track of himself quickly, only aware of the cock pounding him into the bed, the big hand on the back of his neck holding him in place, and the soaring ecstasy Ulfric so generously gives him. 

It takes him less than two minutes to come, tensing hard around Ulfric’s cock. Ulfric holds on long enough for Halfdan to whimper in overstimulation before he whispers in Halfdan’s ear.

“Say it.”

“You are my king,” Halfdan groans, cock twitching despite the fact that he’d just come. “Talos, give it to me. Every fucking drop.”

“ _ Gods _ ,” Ulfric mutters. His come spurts hot inside Halfdan, and his orgasm seems to go on forever. 

_ That’s what two weeks apart will do to you _ , Halfdan thinks.  _ That’s what missing the very heart in your chest does, too. _

Ulfric stays on top of him for several minutes, even after he’s caught his breath. Halfdan imagines it’s to sate his desire to keep him there; if given the chance, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ulfric really did tie him to the bed like a piece of property. The man’s not jealous, but he’s possessive to a fault. And he hates admitting it, but having Halfdan cleaning up half the bandit lairs and dragons’ eyries in Skyrim makes him goddamn  _ nervous _ , so much so he doesn’t know what to do with it. Hence the occasional blow-out fight, tonight being Exhibit A.

“Will you get off me, you big lug?” Halfdan finally asks. 

Ulfric breathes hot against his neck for a few more seconds, then gets up with a sigh. He brings a wet cloth - too fucking  _ cold _ \- and cleans them both. Then he pulls Halfdan to his chest again, making him feel like he really is in a bear’s embrace. Oh well, at least he could breathe for a few minutes. 

It takes Ulfric a while, but Halfdan is patient. He waits for the king to find the words for what he’s feeling. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Ulfric says haltingly. “You take so many risks, but the king needs his partner here.” Halfdan opens his mouth to speak, but Ulfric cuts him off with a gentle tug on his long hair. “You’ll do what you do, I know. You belong to Skyrim as much as I do, and you answer the call the best you know how. But think about how you would feel if I went off to war without you, not knowing if you’d ever see me again.”

“We’re Nords. It’s a way of life,” Halfdan protests. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it won’t devastate you,” Ulfric says softly. 

Halfdan snuggles closer, as close as two people can be. “See, why don’t you show everyone else how much of a hopeless romantic you are?”

“I am no such thing!” Ulfric responds, affronted, which only makes Halfdan laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’ll just keep the truth to myself then.”

“It’s human nature,” Ulfric insists. Rather needlessly, Halfdan thinks. Ulfric doth protest too much. “I count on you. I count on those I care about.”

_ Why can’t you just say you love me? _ Halfdan wonders sadly. 

“Uh-huh,” he yawns. “Go to sleep. You’ve a long day of kingly duties ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Halfdan… “ Ulfric manages, but can’t seem to say more. It’s alright; Halfdan is used to it. Ulfric has already let his guard down tonight, and it’s not like he doesn’t know how the man feels. It’s written in the way Ulfric wraps his arms so tight around him, in the way his eyes look at him so softly when Ulfric thinks he can’t see. Hell, Galmar had all but said it himself earlier today. 

“You don’t need to talk about it now,” Halfdan murmurs. “It’s like beating a dead horse, and you need to rest.”

Ulfric pulls him impossibly  _ closer _ . Halfdan wouldn’t be surprised if they actually  _ melded _ . “It’s not just the dragons or the bandits. It’s not just Skyrim. It’s not just your death I’m talking about.”

That gives Halfdan pause. “What do you mean?” he asks in confusion, afraid of the answer. There’s nothing out there he can’t handle, not between him and Serana. 

“The thalmor… “ Ulfric starts, then falls silent once again.  _ This is the part he doesn’t want to speak out loud _ , Halfdan realizes.  _ To voice the fear is to bring it to the light.  _ “They won’t kill you. Not for a long time.”

“Not until I’m broken,” Halfdan realizes.

“No,” Ulfric says softly, “not until  _ I’m _ broken.”  _ Again _ goes unsaid but implied. So does _ for good.  _

Halfdan doesn’t know how to respond. It had never occurred to him before that he’s Ulfric’s weak spot. And he’s heard little of what Elenwen had done to Ulfric while he’d been under her not-so-tender mercies, but Halfdan knows enough to know that Ulfric had been so utterly terrified of the woman that he hadn’t known how to break free of her manipulation for a long time after regaining his freedom. By all reports, he might have been let go,  _ allowed _ to escape - not even Ulfric is certain. 

“I’m not going to guilt trip you,” Ulfric tells him eventually. “We are dangerous men, and we lead dangerous lives. To see you fall in battle would bring me great pride. The pain would be worth it, knowing I would see you again in Sovngarde. But if the Dominion took you… you would beg for death before the end. And it would kill me to know you had gone through that with me unable to aid you.”

Halfdan pulls back enough to look up at his husband. “They won’t get me,” he says softly, knowing in his heart that he can’t truly make that promise, but wanting to anyway. “Besides that, the palace is not truly safe, either. Nowhere is. Let me do good where I can. Skyrim has to be a place worth fighting for, when the time is right. I’ll be careful, I swear it. I don’t want you to lose me, either.”

Ulfric stares down at him. Halfdan forces himself to meet his gaze, even though those beautiful hazel eyes bore into his soul as always. He softly brushes a braid away from Ulfric’s face. Ulfric grabs his hand and kisses the palm, closing his own eyes as though afraid of the tenderness inherent in the act. 

“Sleep, Ulfric. Tomorrow is a new day. Just be here with me now.”

Ulfric sighs heavily, his chest heaving in Halfdan’s face. “Sleep well,” he responds, reluctantly releasing his hand but pulling Halfdan close again.

_ How could I not _ ? Halfdan thinks.  _ I’m never safer than when I’m with you. _

  
  


***

  
  


When Halfdan had gotten back to the city, the healer had admonished him for taking such risks, and she’d been right; his body desperately needs the rest. He’d been practically dragged in on the back of a horse, and the palace staff had worked their asses off to make sure he’d survived. 

Halfdan had begged them not to tell Ulfric how bad it had really been, but the king must suspect on some level, because Ulfric orders him around day and night, though certainly in different ways. Halfdan can feel his eyes on him more often than not, but at least Ulfric allows him free reign to use his talents the best he can while cooped up in the city. 

In the meantime, Serana takes a trip to Solstheim to dig up more on this mysterious Miraak. She returns with all the - quite alarming - information they need, as well as a platoon of Dunmer troops for Galmar to train and a message for Ulfric from Raven Rock. She looks much worse for wear, weary in a way the immortal usually aren’t. 

“The hell happened to you?” he asks her at dinner her first night back. 

“I think,” she says slowly, raising her head to meet his eyes, “I think we’re gonna need a plan for this one. Ulfric needs to know the situation, much as I hate to say it.”

“Shit. It’s really that bad?”

“That depends. How much do you fancy another trip to Oblivion?”

“Ah, _ fuck _ . Who is it this time?”

“I can’t be certain, obviously, but I think it’s Hermaeus Mora. It’s got his manipulative bullshit written all over it.”

“I really am never going to escape them, am I?”

“Several of them have a claim on you. They’ll be fighting over what’s left of you once you’re dead,” she half-jokes. 

_ If only you knew the truth, _ he doesn’t say. 

“Will he let you go?” she asks after a beat. “There are other champions he could send.”

“None that wouldn’t get caught in Mora’s web. He’ll have no choice. Besides, what will he do, tie me to the bed?”

She gives him a tired smile. “I don’t need to know what the two of you do when you’re alone. Though… I’m not surprised.” She looks him up and down, probably imagining… Divines know what. Hopefully nothing that has actually happened. How embarrassing would that be?

“Galmar been talkin’ shit again?” he asks with a grin of his own. “Some days I think he wouldn’t mind joining us.”

“Sure, who can blame him?” Halfdan stares at her with his jaw on the floor. “But where would he fit, do you think?”

“Serana,” Halfdan groans, “you spend entirely too much time imagining my sex life.”

She tilts her head to consider this. “Well, I could pull you from the picture and put Galmar in your place.”

Halfdan chokes on his mead. That is definitely not an image he wants  _ or  _ needs. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that Ulfric seems the type to bend you over the nearest piece of furniture and take you to Sovngarde on the power of his dick alone. You can’t blame a girl for wondering.”

“You have no idea,” he mutters. “He’s not going to be happy, though.”

“Butter him up?” she asks hopefully.

He smiles at her, rueful and a little shy. “There’s not a single piece of me I don’t freely give that man already.”

“As long as it’s what you want,” she says softly, taking his hand from across the table.

“It is,” he responds, heartfelt. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

  
  


***

  
  


As it turns out, Halfdan has the shittiest timing  _ ever. _

“ You were half dead?” Ulfric asks, horrified and not a little angry. “You both left out that little detail when you gave your report.”

“Well - “ Halfdan starts.

Ulfric talks right over him. “You came to the palace, barely even _ made _ it to the palace, stumbling blind in the dark and burning up with an infection? A  _ gut _ infection?!”

“Look, I know you’re angry - “

“And then you had the nerve to tell the healers not to  _ wake me up _ ? When my husband could have  _ died _ in the same  _ building _ while I slept on, oblivious?”

“Well, you would’ve been grumpy.”

Serana snorts, unable to help herself, and then quails as Ulfric turns his murderous stare on her. There’s silence, the kind where a man could hear a pin drop from fifty feet away, but then Ulfric thankfully takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth just like Jorleif had taught him. Thank Talos for Jorleif.

“Serana, if you would please leave me with my husband.”

“Yes, my king,” she says, shooting Halfdan a sympathetic look as she hastens through the door. 

Halfdan longingly follows her with his gaze. If only he could get out of it that easily. 

“Come here,” Ulfric commands when they’re alone. “Closer.”

Halfdan glances around at the guards, who are studiously looking in the other direction. “I can’t get much closer,” he says, feeling nervous. “Not without sitting on the throne.”

“Closer,” Ulfric repeats, a little more stern. 

Halfdan climbs into his lap, jostling for a comfortable position, knees digging painfully into the cold stone. He shifts his hips, jostling Ulfric’s erection. 

_ Oh my Gods, we’re about to desecrate the high throne of Skyrim. _

“The guards, they, they… Ulfric, anyone could walk in - “

Ulfric runs fingers through his hair, then grabs hold of it tightly and forces his head back, exposing his neck. Halfdan whimpers, incredibly loud in the empty space. “It’s night, no one’s walking in. And you’ll do as I say,” the king murmurs against his neck. 

“Why are you like this?” Halfdan gasps when Ulfric starts sucking hard on his neck. 

“Because you’re a disobedient miscreant, and if I don’t show you your place from time to time, you’ll forget who you belong to.”

He shudders when Ulfric bites his earlobe. All it would take is a little pressure on his cock and he’d come right here, right now in front of four Stormcloak guards, assuming none of the rest of the palace servants walk in. Or - he shudders - Galmar.

“Ulfric,” he pleads as quietly as he can. “Not here. Please.”

Ulfric stands up, strong and immovable as a tree even at fifty. Halfdan is forced to wrap long, lean legs around the king as he’s unceremoniously carried to their bedroom. He tightens his hold and hangs on for dear life when Ulfric kisses him, fierce as a wild cat, while walking up the stairs. 

Hasn’t the man proven his physical prowess enough? Does he still need to show off?

_ Well, you certainly fall for it every time. _

He’s not surprised when Ulfric grabs his legs and places them over his shoulders once they’re in bed. It’s so much to take, the way Ulfric’s body possesses him and the way his emotions respond to the pain and fear and fucking  _ adoration _ in those deep hazel eyes. Everything falls away, all his cares, all his thoughts and dreams of Sovngarde, Ulfric making him fly high and stay grounded all at once. Gods, the entire palace can probably hear him, but he can hardly find it in himself to care.

Ulfric grabs his cock in one hand and fingers him open with the other. Halfdan would arch off the bed and halfway to the ceiling if he could get any leverage, but with Ulfric bending him nearly double, he has no choice but to take it. Which is exactly what the man wants, of course, devious as he is. Halfdan’s crying out wordlessly, trying to get away and trying to get more all at once, when Ulfric hits that spot inside him and he sees stars, coming hard enough to shoot past his face. 

Ulfric chuckles and replaces his fingers with his cock, stretching Halfdan’s hole past the point of comfort. Halfdan, wrung out from his orgasm and oversensitive, bites his tongue to stop from screaming, which only half-works. Ulfric ignores his pleading eyes and drills him into the bed. 

Halfdan’s muscles relax shortly after, and the discomfort turns to near-overwhelming pleasure. His cock twitches valiantly and eventually rises to full rigidity while Ulfric continues to plow him. Halfdan watches him grit his teeth in an effort to hold out, waiting for Halfdan to come again. 

And of course he loses that fight, Ulfric avoiding his own orgasm by sheer stubbornness. Halfdan doesn’t care, letting go for the second time in fifteen minutes, in awe of his lover as always. Ulfric comes in him with a long, low groan, releases Halfdan’s calves from over his shoulders, and collapses on top of him, finally spent. 

Breathless, Halfdan manages speech, but it’s hard, between his boneless post-orgasm daze and the big Nord on top of him. “I’m in my forties, Ulfric. You know I can’t do that anymore.”

“But you just did,” Ulfric purrs. “So good for me, my sweet Dovahkiin.”

Halfdan flushes from head to toe at the praise before pushing Ulfric off of him. They snuggle the same way they do every night, Ulfric seeming to need him as close as he can possibly be.

Suddenly, Halfdan laughs against Ulfric’s chest. “I know a lady in the marketplace who is obsessed with you, did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Ulfric rumbles. “But I’m not surprised.”

Halfdan scoffs tiredly. “Mighty big ego on you.”

“Leaders are placed on pedestals, seen as greater than they really are. If not, people wouldn’t follow them. It comes with the territory.”

“That’s an astute observation, actually,” Halfdan says, not surprised as some people would be by his insight. Ego or not, Ulfric is not unwise. Kinda hard not to be after some of what he’d been through. 

Halfdan’s mood, made somber by Ulfric’s statement, darkens a bit. He knows that no matter how much it pains Ulfric, it’s almost time for him to go out into the world again. His feet burn with the need for it. And for as much as they discuss it, they’re still avoiding discussing it. They both know how it feels, but not how to  _ deal  _ with it.

“Dragon blood really did a number on me, you know.”

“I’ve noticed,” Ulfric says dryly. 

“It’s hard to say what I was like. You know, before. Maybe I really only woke up that day in Helgen.”

“I am sorry you don’t remember. I loved my father dearly; I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose him in such a way.”

“You had it worse,” Halfdan says. “You mourned him in prison. You couldn’t even say goodbye.”

“We don’t often get to,” Ulfric murmurs. “I’m wishing for something so unlikely. Building castles in the sky, my father used to say.”

“I know the feeling.” Feeling suddenly melancholy and entirely too vulnerable and honest, he finally says too much. “I spend my days chasing Sovngarde.”

Halfdan doesn’t realize the mistake he’s made until the silence drags on for several beats. Then he groans and closes his eyes, unwilling to look his husband in the face, afraid of what he’ll see there. 

“After everything I’ve given you,” Ulfric finally mutters, and Halfdan’s heart breaks all over again, “you repay me with… that.” He sounds floored, rejected,  _ betrayed. _

“No, it’s not like that - “

“But it must be. You love her more than me?” Ulfric asks. Halfdan can feel him turning on his side to watch him, like he’s afraid Halfdan will lie about something so important. “Be honest.”

Halfdan can’t answer for a while. Ulfric has never cried in front of him - he’d be surprised if Ulfric had ever cried in his life - but Halfdan gets the feeling he might be holding back now. 

Somewhere in his traitorous heart, he finds the words. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

It’s Ulfric’s turn to be quiet. Halfdan waits him out, his patience carrying the sharp edge of terror that he’s gone too far. 

“I don’t know if it’s enough. I suppose it’ll have to be.”

Halfdan finds the courage to turn to Ulfric and drink him in. “I hate making you sound like that. Stop sounding like that,” he says, suddenly on the verge of tears himself. 

“I’ve not been dishonest with you a single time in our few years together. I’m not going to start now.”

“I know,” Halfdan says on a sigh. “And I thank you for that, too. This is just… not something I wanted to lay at your feet. You have enough to worry about.”

“We should sleep,” Ulfric mutters. “I’m tired.” Halfdan knows he doesn’t mean physically. 

“Hold me,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss his husband. “Hold me like it’s the last time.” 

_ Because it might be.  _

He wakes up in the early hours, after the candles have blown out and the fire is so low it no longer offers any warmth, barely offers any light. 

“You don’t have to be angry, Ulfric,” he says softly, brushing Ulfric’s hair away from his peaceful, sleeping face. “Not sad, either, though I get it. You just have to accept me for who and what I am.”

_ We are two men writing our signatures on the winds of time. All we have is what we can stand to give each other. _

He leaves the next morning without saying goodbye. If he has to see the pain in Ulfric’s eyes, he might not be able to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ulfric comes to an important realization and goes apeshit on his enemies, Serana gives him a gods-damned clue, and Halfdan is just happy to be alive.

  
  
  


“It’s not going to be enough.” 

“Why do you think that? You’ve got all of Skyrim behind you, Ulfric. Its sons and daughters have flocked to you. They are ready to fight.”

Ulfric frowns at the map spread out in front of him, then at Galmar. “I’m not worried about its sons and daughters. I’m worried about where we’re going and what we’re setting out to do.”

“Hammerfell is behind you, too. The dunmer and the bosmer. High Rock. Splinter groups in Cyrodiil. What more do you need? They all await your command.” When Ulfric remains unmoved, he growls, “The damn high elves have taken life and livelihood from so many already. How long do you intend to let them continue?”

“You are missing the point, friend,” Ulfric says, remaining calm. “It’s not the size of our armies, nor is it their readiness. And surely you do not doubt my conviction?” Galmar sends him a deathglare, which only makes him grin. “No. You know better than that.”

“Get to the point.”

“We need a weapon. Swords and bows can only do so much. It’s not the common elf we see on the street that we need to worry about. It’s the thalmor in their seats of power, and the wizards that serve them.”

“We have people to worry about the magic.”

“ _ We _ need to worry about the magic. We command these troops, Galmar. It’s on us, even if we do not understand a lick of it. And those with magic that fight for us? They’re not ready.”

Galmar throws his hands in the air and paces away into the throne room. Ulfric merely waits, giving him the space to work through his frustration. They’re a lot alike, he and Galmar. 

“When do you plan to do this, then? Do you plan to wait another twenty-five years, just like the Empire did before we forced them out? You’re not getting any younger, either.”

“I know that,” Ulfric says, amused. 

“You’re never going to feel ready enough to wage war.”

“No. I  _ know _ we are not ready to wage war. Against Cyrodiil, maybe, if they were the real enemy. The thalmor are a different story. Be patient. Trust in me.”

“Haven’t I always?” Galmar mutters.

“And have I ever led you astray?”

“No, my king,” Galmar says without hesitation. 

“Then it’s settled. Call for Mirabelle or whoever is in charge of the College these days.”

“Ask Jorleif. I’m not your message boy.”

“Maybe not. But you’ve got a visit to Winterhold coming up next week. Don’t be a pain in the ass,” Ulfric says. Galmar makes a rude gesture in return and stalks toward the door. “Bring me some mead while you’re out!” Ulfric yells after him. “And none of that Black-Briar slop!”

He turns his attention back to the map once Galmar has left the palace. Most of his household has already gone to bed, Yrsarald and Jorleif included, so he’s alone and free to be with his thoughts. 

Galmar is the greatest asset Ulfric has ever had. Ulfric has had very little contact with anyone but officers in quite some time. It comes with the territory, a necessary truth if he wants to retain control over the day-to-day runnings of his hold and, to a lesser extent, the other Jarls. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his oldest friend at his back. 

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t smart, though. His blood aches to get out there and prepare to fight, too. Swinging a sword in the yard with his advisors isn’t near enough. 

Which brings his thoughts to Halfdan. Ulfric understands why - well, not _ why  _ necessarily, but  _ what _ his husband is, and Ulfric can’t really blame him for his nature. It’s the same as his own, the desire to slay his enemies and restore order through chaos. To feel the joy of risking his life and coming out of the fight victorious, and Talos knows it’s worse for his husband. Paarthurnax had once told Halfdan that he must feel it coursing through him, that desire. Halfdan hadn’t been ready to face that yet. Sovngarde had changed him. Ulfric had seen through it immediately, and truth be told, it had scared him a little.

He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t some small part of him that wants to go down swinging instead of dying in his bed of old age, though. Halfdan had said it himself - it’s the Nord’s way, the only guaranteed way to get a man to Sovngarde. 

And Sovngarde... Halfdan had tasted it and had come back whole, and yet... Ulfric had heard the longing in his voice when he’d spoken of it nearly two weeks ago. That interaction hadn’t allayed his fears;  it had done nothing but convince him that Halfdan’s in worse danger than he had thought.

He tries not to think about it. Not the likelihood of losing Halfdan to the fight; that he could handle, assuming it wasn’t at the hands of the thalmor. But that he might love Sovngarde more than he loves Ulfric?

_ What selfishness _ , he thinks.  _ Is this the way a king acts? To expect a man to love him more than peace and paradise itself? _

Ulfric knows that he’s not a good man. He isn’t sure he’s a bad one, either, just flawed, with strengths and weaknesses like anyone else. In his darker moments, he’s been brutally honest with Halfdan about it, asking him how someone so full of life and joy could possibly care for him so much. Halfdan had always just shrugged and responded that if anyone deserves love, everyone does, so free with that word Ulfric has never had the strength to return. Yet Halfdan somehow doesn’t think that Ulfric is a bad person, and it’s honestly one of the only things that keeps him going on the days he truly feels his age.

He needs Halfdan to keep him grounded, to keep him focused on what he’s fighting for. Before he’d come along, Ulfric had been fighting with only an ideal in his mind, something that others could have, but that he could not. And now that he has that impossible dream, it only drives him harder to win this war and wipe out his enemies like a stain on Nirn itself, but he’s also driven to laugh more, to love freely, and it’s not something he can live without now. 

It’s fucking terrifying, being human. 

Another week goes by. He sees Galmar off to the College, receives messages from the Jarls and from the troops and from everybody in the damn city, or so it seems. He’s exhausted in body and soul when he falls into bed, missing Halfdan more than ever. It’s been over two weeks now, and Ulfric’s heart hurts with the thought of what might’ve happened to him.

So of course  that’s when Serana shows up white-faced and trembling with no Halfdan in sight. He doesn’t hear much of what she says beyond the obvious. 

Planning an assault on Oblivion. 

An inn. A miner’s grandson. A quick favor before meeting Miraak.

Losing him in the fray. 

Finding him later, trapped in a gorge, unconscious and unable to call for help. A puzzle door. Possibly more draugr.

No food or clean water. Serana had had it all on her.

Ulfric’s ears are ringing, blood singing as strongly as it does in battle as he rids himself of his sleeping furs. He’s fully naked in less than ten seconds, right there in front of his husband’s stricken companion, who is in such shock she doesn’t even glance away. She’s just... watching him anxiously, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Like she needs a leader, like she needs Halfdan.

Ulfric can understand the sentiment. 

“You’ve a ship?” he asks, pulling on his armor. He’s surprised to note how steady his voice and his fingers are as he tightens the buckles. 

“It’s ready, but... we’ll have at least a day before we can get to him. You should dress for the trip.”

He glances at her for a moment and weighs his options. Used to duplicity, his normal response would be to just leave it, to say that a king needs to be prepared for anything that might come his way, or any number of other excuses. But he’s tired and scared out of his mind and he knows that Serana  can appreciate that in a way that few others can . 

“It’s unlikely that I will take this off until he is safe, unless it’s to bathe. I won’t feel ready otherwise, and I need to be ready.” He doesn’t look at her while he speaks, just continues adjusting his armor. 

“Anxiety,” she says numbly. “I don’t know if I’d prefer that to this.”

“We all deal with it differently. Let’s go.”

The Northern Maidan is waiting for them when they make their way to the docks. Only the Captain is aware of who he is, bundled up like a damn khajiit lost in the Sea of Ghosts. The crew knows nothing more than that they’re getting paid generously for the extra trip, and they leave their two passengers alone. 

Ulfric and Serana set up in the Captain’s quarters; Ulfric hadn’t wanted to, but the man had insisted. There’s no way he’ll rest until the king is safely deposited in Raven Rock anyway, he’d said. Ulfric wishes he could remember the man’s name at the very least. 

“He’s there,” Serana says like she’s testing the words. “He’s alive and waiting for us at the bottom of that ridge. Or at the inn, drinking mead and playing darts, knowing him.”

They both know the last part isn’t true, at least - no way would Halfdan drink and make merriment when he knows his family is looking for him. But maybe she’s right about the other bit. It’s all he can do to hope. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Ulfric says quietly. “He’s made me a different person. A better person. Almost fifty years I’d lived, near on thirty carrying this anger alone. At the Empire, at the thalmor. At life. He tempered it, honed it, gave it the space it needed and made it get out of the space it didn’t.” 

“If you feel that way, why don’t you tell him?”

He looks at her sharply from his seat on the couch. Her silhouette is more clear than her body in the muted light from the room’s sole window. They hadn’t bothered lighting a candle. 

“Surely he knows.”

She shrugs noncommittally. “Wouldn’t hurt to remind him.”

“What do you know?” he asks, suddenly suspicious. “Tell me.”

“I don’t,” she says simply. “Just guessing. Even if I’m wrong, though, even if you tell him you love him every single day, he can always stand to hear it more. That man worships the ground you walk on, and I’m not sure you deserve it.”

Ulfric looks back down at his hands, already raw from nervously digging his nails into them. “No one deserves his love.”

She doesn’t respond, but he can feel her eyes on him, judging him. Finding him wanting, not the least because she’s right. He’s never once told Halfdan that he loves him, not in three fucking years. 

How much of a goddamn fool is he? 

“I’m going to find him,” he says, steel in his voice. “I’m going to bring him home.”

“ _ We _ are going to,” Serana says, just as firm. “Don’t you dare try to count me out of it.”

“You - “

“And don’t you tell me I’m the one who lost him,” she spits, suddenly vicious. “I’ve been watching his back for years now. Where are you when he needs you, hmm?” 

“Ruling a country. It was my destiny, and I won’t bother trying to outrun it. I started a war, fell into the thalmor’s greedy trap, and I won’t give up on my duty now. It doesn’t make me any less committed to Halfdan, and I won’t have you telling me otherwise.”

Her eyes are gleaming in the frail moonlight passing through the single window; he can see her lips in a thin line. She doesn’t like him, he gets that much, or at least not right now. He won’t call her on it, won’t pick a fight as is his wont to do when feeling particularly peevish - which is often - as long as she helps him find Halfdan. 

Right now, nothing else matters. 

  
  


***

  
  


Raven Rock is a small town, strangely dry and barren, and Ulfric immediately hates it. There’s something about the gloom in Eastmarch that draws him, much to Halfdan’s dismay. There’s not much he can say about it , though : it’s his home. 

The elves are nice enough, he supposes. These people are not used to living in the Grey Quarter, detested by much of Windhelm. His fault to an extent - the Grey Quarter had been established centuries prior to his birth, but he hasn’t exactly done anything to stop the way the elves are treated in his city, and the lingering resentment would be hard to change anyway. But an effort could have been made, even if a token one, as Halfdan has reminded him often enough. The liberation of Skyrim had been his priority, though, almost his obsession. And they’re still not free, will never be free of the thalmor until the entire political party is wiped from the face of Nirn. 

The thing that some people never understood is that the thalmor are a threat to everyone, human and mer alike. They hate any and all that are not like them. Surely that’s a more important problem than the dark elves who won’t lift a finger to raise their own station. 

Ulfric stares at the home of House Redoran as they walk through the city proper, what there is of it anyway. He knows his presence here would be suspect. The high king of Skyrim likely doesn’t show up unannounced without an ulterior motive, a potentially violent one. Ulfric Stormcloak almost certainly doesn’t.

It’s paranoid to think anyone recognizes him, though. And no one does - no one even glances at him twice. Perhaps they’re used to seeing Serana by now. If that’s the case, he’s grateful. It will allow him to relax and find Halfdan easier.  One less thing to worry about.

He refuses to think of Halfdan as anything but alive. That way lies madness. 

Serana leads him to the mine just outside of town. It’s innocuous enough on the outside, though he’s heard the story and it sounds fishy as anything to him. He breezes past the man who had started all this, Crescius something-or-other, because if he stops to talk to him, he might do something he’ll regret. Serana talks to Crescius in murmurs behind him as he marches straight through the door. 

There’s nothing left to give them trouble, either living or unliving, and for that, Ulfric is glad. There’s no time to waste fighting legions of enemies he could swat aside with one finger. 

He’s feeling hopeful about their odds of finding his husband when they arrive at the ledge. The drop is steep; he can see why Serana was unwilling to risk it, lest they both get stuck there. He’s deeply grateful that she’d had the foresight to come find him, though the delay in bringing Halfdan aid might mean his death, too. 

He immediately notices three things: sword markings in the stone, visible even from up here; the open door leading into a chamber beyond; and blood on the steps. Blood everywhere, a trail disappearing in the open doorway. 

He jumps down without a word and without concern for his own safety, barely feeling the impact, the urge to find Halfdan crescendoing to something unbearable. Serana climbs down after him, more cautious. Wiser. 

_ I’ve never pretended to be wise about him. I lost any sense of wisdom I ever had the moment I laid eyes on him.  _

Ulfric rushes through the grime, dust, and piles of draugr bodies to the bloody rock. It seems to have dried, though not long ago - definitely Halfdan’s blood. 

“He was unconscious, not responding to me no matter how  loud I yelled,” Serana says. “I can’t believe he made it to his feet, let alone swung a sword hard enough to make these marks in the stone.” She reaches out a soft hand, touching them. The rock shocks her where the scores meet the puzzle’s glyphs. 

“Are you coming with me?” Ulfric asks her impatiently. 

“Of course. Who knows what we’ll find in there.” 

“Then  _ come on _ .”

He knows it’s bad the instant he walks in. It smells like decay, putrid and cloying, but the body strewn across the altar in the room’s center is not Halfdan’s, which is an instant relief. The problem is, he can’t find his husband anywhere. 

“Ulfric!” Serana cries. She’s standing at the opposite end of the room from where he’s been searching, behind a slimy rock formation. Her face is pale as she meets his eyes. 

Ulfric reaches the spot in less than two seconds, bounding across the murky water like he’s walking on it. When he sees Halfdan, though, he nearly balks. 

Halfdan’s face is paler than Serana’s. He’s got his thigh tightly wrapped with a bloody rag. His armor and under clothing have been removed, and he’s shivering with fever, breath rattling in his lungs with every shallow breath. 

Serana helps him lift Halfdan as quickly as they dare. Ulfric cradles him to his chest, so careful, desperate to examine him everywhere and to listen to his lungs and feel his heartbeat underneath his fingers, and it’s so much he doesn’t know what to do first. 

“We need to get out of here,” Serana says in a low voice. “There’s an exit chamber over there. C’mon, he needs a real healer.”

_ Again _ , Ulfric thinks despairingly.  _ How many times will he do this before it takes him away from me for good? _

He hauls Halfdan up and over his shoulder, letting Serana lead the way. No acknowledgements or complaints leave Halfdan’s lips; all he’s got are shallow breaths that don’t change no matter how much Ulfric jostles him. 

When they finally make their way out into the sunshine, Serana glances behind her and gasps. 

“What is it?” Ulfric asks, immediately on alert.

“His mouth is leaking blood. Ulfric, he needs the palace healer. Nobody else is going to know how to fix this.”

Ulfric grits his teeth at the frustration flowing through him. “We can’t just show up on his doorstep like that.”

Serana glances at him desperately. “I thought negotiations were going well?”

“They are. But I’m not known for walking in and asking for a peace talk.”

Serana’s face scrunches up in disgust before she scoffs and starts walking faster. 

“Where are you going?” Ulfric asks, trying to keep up with her relentless pace. 

“The Skaal.”

She’d told him about them, the people who had helped get them into this mess. How is he supposed to behave well in the face of that? He’s absolutely fucking terrified, and that has always, _ always _ manifested as anger. It’s one reason he’d left the Greybeards for the war - the other being that he’d wanted to defend Skyrim to the death, unable to sit on the sidelines while his people died.

“Isn’t that on the other side of the island?”

Halfdan answers quietly, “I can get us a ride,” before breaking into a coughing fit. 

Ulfric nearly drops him in his surprise. It’s a good thing he’s  still  got the reflexes of a warrior at his age or he would have. 

“Halfdan!” Serana exclaims, hurrying to his side. “Hey, don’t try to talk. It’s okay, we’ve got you.”

“You don’t, though,” Halfdan says between gasps. “I’ll die before we get there.”

“But you can’t - “

“He’s right,” Ulfric interrupts. “I don’t like it either, but we hardly have a choice.”

“Cover your ears, kids,” Halfdan says. Ulfric can’t, considering he’s the only thing keeping Halfdan off the ground, but he can withstand some ringing in his ears if it means Halfdan lives. 

_ OD AH VIING! _

Nothing happens for long enough that Ulfric starts inwardly panicking - what other options do they have if this doesn’t work? He doesn’t even know what  _ this _ is. 

Just as he’s about to bite his tongue in anguish, a dragon screams a challenge. He tenses, looking around for a spot to lay Halfdan down, but Halfdan touches his shoulder and says quietly, “It’s okay. He’s with us.”

Ulfric is unsure what the fuck that is even supposed to mean, but he trusts Halfdan with his life, even if he doesn’t quite trust him with Halfdan’s own. He breathes deep, making a conscious attempt to relax as the dragon approaches them. 

He can’t help but admire the thing. Its scales glow despite the gloom, and as it gets closer he notices its eyes are frighteningly intelligent. It takes all the willpower he has not to step back, fight or flight response taking over despite himself. 

“ _ Dovahkiin _ ,” the thing rumbles, approaching them at a pace that quite frankly terrifies the pants off of Ulfric. “It has been a long time, my friend. I see that you have great need of my aid.”

Halfdan chuckles, but it turns into a coughing fit. Ulfric slowly lowers him to his feet. He can barely stand on his own and is leaning most of his weight on Ulfric, but it’s not like Ulfric can’t take it. He’ll take all of it and more, much more, just to keep Halfdan safe. 

“You could say that, buddy,” Halfdan says, shaky and wincing in pain. “Can you take all three of us?”

“Wait,” Ulfric says, unsure of what he’d just heard. “You mean to ride that thing?”

Halfdan, even on death’s door as he is, face speckled with the blood he’s coughed and spit up, gives him a dirty look. “He is a friend. You’d do well to treat him with... ahhh, with respect.”

The words seem to tire him out, and his eyes slip closed. Serana grabs him underneath the other armpit and whispers, “Shh, don’t hurt yourself.” She studiously avoids looking at Ulfric, anger and frustration coming off of her in waves. 

Ulfric turns back to the dragon. “Can you take us to the Skaal?”

“I can,” Odahviing responds with a gleam in his eyes. “It’s quite an honor to give a ride to the high king of Skyrim, after all.” 

Ulfric isn’t sure if that’s sarcasm, but what does it matter? He hands Halfdan off to Serana, making sure they’re both stable, then jumps, catching a bone on its back and pulling himself up, then settling in in between bones. It’s not as uncomfortable as he’d feared. Serana helps him pull Halfdan up into his lap afterward.

“Can you climb up?” he asks.

She gives him a dirty look of her own. “Do I look new to you?” 

“It was a fair question,” he grumbles as she climbs aboard and settles between the bones behind him.

“Hang on tight,” Odahviing says, then launches himself into the air. 

Ulfric isn’t afraid of heights, per se, but neither does he enjoy the way gravity begs him to come back to earth. He doesn’t look down, just focuses on holding tightly to his husband, leaning forward to shelter him, arms wrapped around him, hands grasping the thick bone in front of him. 

The ride only takes a few minutes, but Halfdan’s breaths are growing shallow, and Ulfric silently wills the dragon to fly faster. Odahviing certainly isn’t wasting any time, though, which leaves Ulfric enough brainpower to focus on praying to whichever of the Divines is watching over them now. 

_ Please let him live. I’ll do anything you ask of me, just let him live. _

He’s alive when they touch down, at least, though Ulfric isn’t sure how much longer that’s going to last. Their shaman doesn’t ask questions about the dragon suddenly in their midst, instead focusing on his patient, and for that, Ulfric is glad. He doubts he would have been so calm in the face of a giant predator landing in his city. He’s more a fan of kill first, ask questions later. 

The Skaal offer them both lodging. Serana accepts gratefully, but Ulfric couldn’t be pulled away from Halfdan by a dragon right now. Instead, he follows the healer to his home and settles in at the foot of the bed, watching. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off of Halfdan in case...

_ In case it’s the last time I see him alive _ , his mind finishes, refusing to let him shy away from reality. 

“You did well bringing him here,” Storn tells him with a quick glance. He does something to Halfdan that makes him moan briefly in pain. It makes Ulfric tense up again. He’s going to need an entire months’ worth of massages after this trip. “I’m not going to ask how that came to be.” 

Ulfric knows what he’s talking about. “I’m not, either. Can you save him?”

“I think so. I’ve only got one of these; it’s the most potent thing our village alchemist could make. Pray that it’s enough, because there’s no saving him through other means. We simply don’t have the magic.”

He lifts Halfdan’s head and slowly, ever-so-slowly pours the concoction down his throat. Halfdan swallows reflexively and doesn’t choke or throw it back up, a small mercy. 

“Now there’s nothing to do but let the potion do its work. I suggest you settle in. It will be a long night.”

Ulfric nods numbly. 

He becomes unaware of the passage of time. At some point, Serana brings him something to eat, something he downs in three bites without bothering to taste it. She sits next to him, silent as the grave. Neither of them take their eyes off of Halfdan.

“I am going to kill Miraak,”  Ulfric finally tells Serana. “That sonofabitch will die by my axe, mark my words.”

He can feel her eyes on him, but he doesn’t turn to look. “I believe you,” she responds after a moment. “You’ve gotta be - “

“You don’t have the words,” Halfdan murmurs, once more making Ulfric jump. “You can’t defeat him... “

Ulfric pounces out of his chair to Halfdan’s side. He grabs his hand and squeezes; Halfdan doesn’t say another word, but squeezes back weakly. 

“I swear to you, he will die for this.”

When Halfdan doesn’t answer, the panic rises like a tidal wave within him, and he knows it’s time to act or else risk losing the plot entirely. 

“I’m coming with you,” Serana says suddenly, knocking her chair over in her haste to stand. 

“No,” Ulfric responds, forceful enough to give Serana pause. “Stay here with him,” he says, softer. “Please. I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes up.”

When. Not if.  _ When. _

She slowly nods and readjusts her seat. “I’ll be here,” she promises. 

Ulfric stalks out the door and doesn’t look back. 

  
  


***

  
  


Apocrypha is both what he’d expected and something else entirely. The constant low drone and unreasonably warm temperature make him nauseous. By the time he’s fought his first few seekers, he’s sweating in his armor, on the edge of enough discomfort to force him to stop for a break. Only the thought of Halfdan’s near-lifeless body keeps him going. 

He manages to make it to a platform with a word wall at the edge, but the seekers there knock him down to his knees with a one-two hit of magical energy. He grits his teeth and  forces himself to one knee, unable to do anything but Shout as they move in for the kill. 

It staggers them - not enough to damage them, but enough to give him time to move backwards for a breather. There are several stamina potions in his pack, and he downs one with a sigh of relief, feeling his heart rate slow down and his breathing even out. From there, it’s only a matter of time before the creatures are dead, but he’s exhausted from swinging his axe around like a madman , and it’s not even close to over yet . 

Ulfric approaches the wall, hesitant and stumbling, unsure of what to expect. He’s never been near one, though he’s heard the stories from Halfdan. Since he isn’t dragonborn, he’s not even sure he can absorb the word, but once he’s close enough, the endless drone of Apocrypha fades into the background in favor of three words  yelled over and over  inside his head. 

When Ulfric steps close enough, the words enter his mind like a force of nature, knocking him to the hard ground. He feels almost pregnant with their power, his stomach roiling in response to this new, nearly self-aware presence inside him. 

_ Well, we know that works.  _

It’s not that easy, of course. He has one word and what amounts to zero understanding of it. It bounces around in his mind, something he can only chase with no hope of truly catching. It... makes sense in a way, like something ethereal on the mortal plane, an uneasy feeling more than a true presence. But it’s there, and he can just grasp its meaning enough to Shout it when the time comes. It’ll have to be enough. 

Sahrotaar comes for him shortly after. Sick to his stomach - Halfdan was right, this isn’t a pleasant experience in the least - he fights the dragon with all he’s got, swinging his axe, fearless against his enemy. He’s bruised and bloody, limping from a wound in his thigh by the time it goes to its knees in front of him, both of them nearly spent. 

The thing is ugly. Odahviing had been otherworldly, frightening and gorgeous, so unreal it makes him feel guilty to have touched the creature, like he’d tainted it somehow. This one appears as nothing more than a lizard with wings and the head of a snake; he feels nothing but contempt for it. 

As it tries to lift itself into the air once more, Ulfric takes a deep breath and Shouts the word he’d just learned. The word wobbles in his throat, in the air, weak, hideous, but it’s out there, and more importantly, it gives the dragon pause. 

“You are not dragonborn,” it rumbles, wings flapping in the stifling air. “Yet you know the word. But you cannot defeat Miraak. You cannot even reach him.”

“I can, because you’re going to take me there,” Ulfric responds, a challenge spoken with the confidence of a man who is not afraid to die. And maybe he’s foolish for it, but it’s in his nature and so here he is.

“This is news to me,” the creature says. “How are you going to enact your will?” It seems genuinely curious, not mocking. 

“You’re not a fool. Did I not just best you in combat?”

“But you cannot best him.”

“No? I do not fear the power of the dragonborn.” Not true, but he says it anyway. “I am a son of Skyrim, and I am here to challenge Miraak. If you won’t take me, then go and tell him so. If he is unafraid, he will come to meet me.” What Ulfric will do if the man doesn’t accept the challenge, he’s not sure.  Rot in Apocrypha, probably.

Sahrotaar looks at him for several moments in silence. Ulfric feels the itch of its regard underneath his skin, a blanket of discomfort. He refuses to back down, though, keeps his head held high and proud. 

After what seems like an eternity, the dragon snorts. “You can tell him yourself. Climb aboard.”

He wastes no time jumping on the thing’s back. It’s far less comfortable than riding Odahviing, no scales to hold onto, but Ulfric focuses on Miraak’s platform in the distance and does his best to ignore the roiling sea beneath him. Nobody has ever beaten a villain without being a little bit brave. 

Miraak laughs as soon as he lands. The sound echoes off the stone of Apocrypha, harsh in its honesty. Ulfric climbs down from the dragon and grits his teeth, waiting for it to end. Let the man expend his energy before the fight begins. 

Miraak does eventually settle, though the occasional giggles are an annoyance.  But t hey only add to Ulfric’s righteous anger. 

“My, my. What have we here? What happened to my challenger? Are you a warm-up snack?”

“I am Ulfric Stormcloak, high king of Skyrim and husband of your challenger. You will die at my hands, scum.”

“I highly doubt that,” Miraak responds, amused. “I am dragonborn, capable of shouting a man to pieces with a single breath. I can cut through you like butter and hand over your foolish soul to Hermaeus Mora on a platter.”

“You can try,” Ulfric spits. 

Miraak begins to walk toward him, swaggering in his confidence. “And just what weapons do you bring to the fight, hmm? That axe is pretty, I’ll give you that much.”

**_FUS RO DAH_ **

Miraak is blown backwards across the platform. Brushing off his armor, he tilts his head to the side and regards Ulfric silently. 

“You think you have my measure. You don’t.”

“Alright,” Miraak concedes. “I’ve underestimated you. But you can’t fight this.” He makes a complicated motion and Shouts, sending a wave of magical energy in Ulfric’s direction. 

Ulfric lunges out of the way, feeling the energy miss him by inches. He skids sideways, catches his balance, pivots, and runs for his enemy. He gets in one good swing before Miraak Shouts and teleports away. Ulfric doesn’t waste a second in continuing after him, feeling invigorated by Miraak’s contempt. 

Indeed, the man isn’t capable of Shouting again so soon; he dodges Ulfric and counterattacks with his staff. Ulfric ducks under it, swings his axe up and scores a hit across his midsection. Miraak steps back, grabbing his abdomen, and Ulfric moves in for the kill. He Shouts Miraak to the ground and brings his axe down, cutting his abdomen open deep enough he can see viscera and the grey lumps of bowel below it. 

Miraak Shouts again, this time at the sky, bringing down one of the circling dragons who have not yet seen it necessary to get involved in this fight, perhaps uncaring or perhaps ready to pledge loyalty to whomever wins. The dragon lands and immediately bursts into flame, and Ulfric sees for the first time what it’s like when a man absorbs a dragon’s soul. 

Miraak’s stomach wound closes. He crawls far enough away to get to his feet and kicks Ulfric in the chest, staggering him. This would be the best time to attack, when Ulfric is off guard, but instead, Miraak teleports again and turns to use his staff. 

_ Coward _ , Ulfric thinks.  _ Your reliance on magic will cost you your life.  _

Miraak kills three dragons in his quest to bring Ulfric down, but he’s unable to best the king in close combat, and he’s not fast enough with either his Shouts or his feet to outrun him forever. He finally goes down to his knees, unable to call any more dragons and utterly spent. 

Ulfric pushes him down, straddles him, and wraps his big hands around Miraak’s neck. The resulting choking sounds tingle in his palms and travel up his veins. He rubs his hard cock against the man’s stomach as he tightens his grip further.  _ Talos, _ does it feel good to destroy his enemies,  and  even better to destroy Halfdan’s. 

“If your dragon priests ever touch him again I will bring wrath down upon your people like you've never seen.”

  
  


_ He has no people _ , a strangely melodic voice booms from the ether. It sounds amused and quite full of madness. _ He belongs only to me.  _

  
  


“And you are Hermaeus Mora, I presume?” Ulfric asks with a scowl, keeping pressure on Miraak’s jugular, whose struggling has almost ceased. 

  
  


_ The very same! You know, I was going to take this kill from you, but I am rather enjoying the show. You are an entertaining man, high king of Skyrim. _

  
  


“Glad I could be of entertainment,” Ulfric says, sarcastic. 

  
  


Miraak’s body goes lax underneath him. Ulfric stands up and grabs his axe from the ground, raising it to swing. A man deprived of oxygen can be brought back from the dead; a man without a head cannot. 

  
  


_ You don’t have to do that, _ Mora continues.  _ His soul is already trapped here. I can assure you, his body is nothing more than an empty vessel now. I have no more need of him. You, on the other hand...  _

  
  


Ulfric finally looks up and sees... something. A mass of seething tentacles and eyes that blink at him in unison. He’s uneasy in the face of it; who wouldn’t be? 

  
  


“What do you want from me, you vile creature?”

  
  


Mora giggles. It’s what madness would sound like if it were made of noise.  _ Why, your devotion, of course. I have to have a new champion, after all.  _

  
  


“You’ve got what you wanted. Storn died for it.”

  
  


_ Indeed. But you still belong to me. No one comes to Apocrypha and escapes with their soul _ .

  
  


“You can keep your knowledge,” Ulfric says disdainfully, cringing as one of the eyeballs widens and focuses closely on him. “I want nothing to do with it.”

  
  


_ You sure? Not even if it will save Skyrim from the dominion? _

_ “ _ We can take care of ourselves.”

_ And your precious dragonborn? _

  
  


“He is not beholden to you, either.”

  
  


_ Ohhh _ , the prince says with realization,  _ he is beholden to  _ **_you_ ** _. I see now. And just who are you beholden to, then? Is it possession all the way down? To what end? _

  
  


“I belong to Skyrim, and to Sovngarde, and to Talos. I bested your champion in battle. Send me home.”

_ And your dragonborn? Do you also belong to him? Or are you selfish as well as foolish? _

That hits closer to home than he would like. He growls but says nothing.

_ Oh, come on now. Surely you can reassure me of your devotion to him.  _ _ That’s not too much to ask the mighty high king of Skyrim, is it? _

“If you don’t let me get back to him - “

_ Then what? How do you suppose you’ll make it out of this mess? _

“You think I’m not equally devoted to him? For someone who claims to have such knowledge, you certainly don’t know everything.”

_ Well now. You’re certainly a rude one. But you aren’t wrong; the pursuit of knowledge is never ending _ . He pauses thoughtfully, dramatically, clearly happy to keep Ulfric anticipating his decision.  _ I suppose I can let you go. But you shouldn’t be so certain that your soul won’t find its way here upon your death. Mortals are so easy to snare, and so fun, and I’ve tasted yours already. Let me assure you, it is delicious. Be well, high king.  _

Ulfric can hear the mad laughter in his head as he comes to in Halfdan’s makeshift nursery. He puts it out of his mind. Sovngarde will take him, of that he has no doubt. He is a champion of Talos, and Talos watches over his own. 

“Ulfric,” Halfdan murmurs without opening his eyes. Ulfric is by his side in half a second. “They don’t take no for an answer, you damn fool.” There is affection in his voice, exasperation and worry, too. 

Ulfric takes his hand. “Quiet. You need to heal.”

Halfdan lifts his head to get a good look at Ulfric. “Uh huh. You’re covered in blood. What did you do, gut Miraak?”

“A couple of times.”

“Of course you did,” Halfdan snorts. “And not a little of that is your blood, right?” 

“Go to sleep, Halfdan.”

“Not unless you’re going, too,” Halfdan responds stubbornly.

Ulfric sighs in defeat. He’s got no right to call his husband stubborn - he’d used most of his potions and food stores, had been horrifically injured more than once, and he doesn’t even know how long he’d been gone for. More importantly, the fight or flight is wearing off. He feels drained, old as his years. Beyond.

“I’ll be back.”

He reports to Serana and the new shaman, Frea, daughter of Storn. The pure relief on her face brings a rare smile to his own. The Skaal will be okay;  _ Halfdan _ will be okay. 

“How long was I gone?” he asks Serana, making his way back to Halfdan. 

“Four days and change.”

“Four... Did you just say four  _ days? _ ” No wonder he’s fucking exhausted. 

“You’re not going to get into bed with him, are you? You both need to heal.”

“What better way to do that than to be with each other?” he asks, bemused. 

Serana rolls her eyes. “I’ll get you your own bed.”

Ulfric stops short of the door, making her stop behind him. “Do you really think you can stop me?”

She crosses her arms and tilts her hips, wearing an unimpressed expression. “I can’t, but I guess it’s too much to hope you’ll see reason.”

“I know you don’t like me. But ask Halfdan what he wants if you’re so insistent on butting in.”

Serana uncrosses her arms and rubs her forehead. “I have no problem with you, Ulfric,” she says tiredly, “but I love him. He gave me my life back. He was kind to me when no one else had been for centuries. I know how you feel about him, even if he secretly doubts it, so why can’t you get that I’m looking out for him?”

Ulfric stares at her. “Have you been with him?”

“Seriously?  _ That’s _ your question?  _ That’s _ your take-away?”

“Answer me.”

She rolls her eyes and steps past him, opening the door. “No, my  _ king _ , we have not been together. I’d never do such a thing without your permission.”

He grabs her arm, stopping her before she can walk into the cottage. “I’m not mistreating him. Do you trust me?”

She looks at him for a moment before nodding grudgingly. “I do.”

“Good.” 

He walks past her and back to Halfdan’s bedside. His husband has lost weight and seems so fragile in his arms, but he fits underneath Ulfric’s chin the same as always. Halfdan makes a soft, pleased sound as Ulfric wraps his arms around him. Ulfric can feel Serana’s eyes on them, but he pays it no mind - whatever the woman is thinking is no concern of his. It’s enough to trust her. 

They’re both asleep within seconds.

  
  


***

  
  


They spend three days with the Skaal. The light is strange here, so unlike Eastmarch. Ulfric is getting restless and homesick, ready to get back to the business of ruling Skyrim. It’s hard not to wish Halfdan would heal faster. Unfair, considering Halfdan is lucky to be healing at all. 

“Thank you,” Frea says as they’re finally leaving the village. “You have done us a great service. You are always welcome here with the Skaal.”

“And you to Skyrim. The Palace of Kings would appreciate your company should you decide to visit.”

Her eyes slowly widen in shock. He can see the moment it all adds up. 

“Oh,” she says faintly. “I didn’t realize... I’d heard rumors, but nothing concrete. It never... no wonder you were able to best Miraak. Your abilities on the battlefield are well known.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it was my heart that led me through to the end.”

Inexplicably, she blushes. “That is sweet, my lord. I may take you up on the offer of visiting.”

“Good,” he says, and means it. 

Serana watches him as they travel across Solstheim, staring at him like he’s undergone some kind of character growth. He scowls back at her, which only seems to delight her further. 

Of course, she’s less impressed with him once they reach Raven Rock Mine. As soon as he sees Crescius Caerellius, the anger returns in full force. He remains at the far end of the dark room, glaring daggers at the man.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” he’s saying, shaking hands with Serana and Halfdan, who has all but fallen over into his chair, out of breath from the short descent into the mine. Ulfric’s concern for his husband gives him so much anxiety he feels nearly out of breath himself. He wants to go to Halfdan, and the knowledge that he can’t let himself be that vulnerable right now makes him lash out.

“What were you  _ thinking?  _ You send people to their deaths doing  _ your _ dirty work?”

Crescius glances between the three of them, confused. “But sir, he didn’t die. He’s right here.”

“Barely,” Ulfric growls. “And no thanks to you.”

Crescius’ wife, Aphia, steps in, dark features twitching in anger. “And just who do you think you are to speak like that to my husband?”

Ulfric shouldn’t say anything - he  _ shouldn’t  _ \- and yet he can’t seem to help himself. “You are talking to the high king of Skyrim right now. Is this really a fight you want to start?” he asks, deceptively soft.

Her face pales and she takes a step back. Clearly his reputation precedes him here as well. 

Crescius turns to Halfdan. "I... oh, I didn't know you were the king's consort - "

" _ Husband _ ," Ulfric spits angrily. "He is my husband, and you would do well to remember that."

"Husband, yes, I am sorry. We don't get much news out of Skyrim - "

"Crescius, it's okay," Halfdan says quietly. "I made the decision to go down there. I was overconfident. This isn't on you." He turns his gaze toward Ulfric, who glares back. Halfdan is right, of course; it's him Ulfric should be yelling at. 

“Yeah, if we could not fight about this here, that’d be great,” Serana says with a long-suffering sigh. “Halfdan is barely able to hold himself up still. We need to get him home.”

They’re all looking at Ulfric, waiting to see where he’ll step next. Well, that’s okay; people have been looking to Ulfric his whole life. 

“You’ve got what you wanted,” he says coldly, “now let the town of Raven Rock be prosperous once more. And never,  _ ever _ ask anything of Halfdan again.” He turns and stalks out of the mine without waiting for a response. 

“You are angry with me,” Halfdan says later, when they’re in the captain’s bed on the Northern Maiden. “Why?”

Ulfric is tired, and Halfdan is tired, and he very much does not want to be riled up or set back his husband’s recovery. “Is there a point in going over it again?” he asks pragmatically. “We need to rest.”

“I am sorry,” Halfdan murmurs, turning in to his chest. Something in Ulfric’s heart cracks. It doesn’t escape his notice that Halfdan refuses to push an argument when it’s obvious how much Ulfric is trying. Trying not to fly off the handle, trying not to give in to the fear that grips him every second of the day. Halfdan brings out the best and worst in him just by being who and what he is. 

_ Well who else could be the king’s partner? _ Ulfric wonders.  _ Someone to match him in righteous anger… Someone who can more than match him in his ability to forgive. _

He kisses the top of Halfdan’s head, inhaling the clean scent of his lover, tightens his hold on the man, feeling more protective than ever, frustrated by the fact that it’s he himself who is hurting Halfdan. 

But he still can’t say it. 

When will he stop being a fool?

  
  


***

Galmar is waiting for him when he throws open the palace doors.

“You are lucky I don’t bash your head in for your stupidity.”

Ulfric raises an eyebrow. “It’s good to see you in one piece, Galmar. At three o’clock in the morning, I might add.”

“This is no laughing matter, Ulfric. I didn’t know what had even happened to you for four days!”

“I did what I had to. You ran the country while I was gone. We did our jobs. What more do you want?”

“Don’t patronize me!” Galmar spits, following Ulfric down the hall and upstairs. “Do you take me for a fool? I’m starting to take you for one.”

Ulfric sighs. It occurs to him that Galmar is the only person on Nirn who can challenge him like this without igniting his legendary temper. Halfdan would only get himself thrown against the wall if he’d come at Ulfric the way Galmar does. Weird and  a little sad how that works.

“Are you going to follow me all the way to my bedroom?” he asks, stopping at the foot of the stairs to the last level.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” Galmar growls, “you have got to fix this. If you don’t, Skyrim will suffer.”

“She won’t suffer under your leadership. You know how to lead in my stead.”

“And if you hadn’t come back? Has she not been your greatest love for fifty years?”

Ulfric looks at the floor. “Maybe my priorities have changed,” he responds with a shrug. “I don’t think love works that way, anyway. Your heart doesn’t have a finite amount of love in it. Do I not also love you? Would you doubt who I’ve been to you these last years?”

Galmar stares at him incredulously. “Have you become a philosopher in the last fortnight, or have I lost my gods-damned mind?”

“I am home. Halfdan is home and will be for some time. I almost lost him. Let it go, Galmar.”

“If this happens again - “

“Then you can yell at me, yes. Please. Go to sleep. We will look forward in the morning.” He turns around and begins to climb the stairs, a dismissal.

“You will both end up in Sovngarde before your time, you know that.” Galmar calls after him.

“There is no wrong time to find Sovngarde.”

  
  


*** 

  
  


The days pass slowly as Halfdan heals. Ulfric feels them in his bones. The fear of losing his husband lingers, a constant low level of anxiety pulsing just at the edge of his awareness. Even with Halfdan stuck in Windhelm until the healers clear him, it’s different than before. This is visceral, like having seen Halfdan nearly dead broke something inside Ulfric. 

Plans for assaulting the Dominion continue, the training of troops and meetings with those under his banner and those who would aid Skyrim. The Jarls serve him well despite their personal eccentricities, and the country rebuilds a little bit at a time. Things aren’t different in any practical sense, and yet. 

He retires earlier every night and gets out of bed later. He is no less intent on fighting this war, but his focus is sharper. He’d always been fighting for a free Skyrim, for a free  _ humanity _ , but he hadn’t believed he’d ever be more than just a soldier. Maybe one with a crown on his head, but a man of war nonetheless.

Now, though... now he understands what peace really means. It’s written in the way Halfdan stretches and yawns in the morning light, in the way he blows air on his food when it’s too hot, in the easy way he laughs at the stupid shit Jorleif or Galmar or Ralof say. There are stakes to this thing now that there weren’t before. 

They’re sitting down to dinner in the war room - he, Galmar, and Yrsarald, when Galmar finally brings it up. 

“You’ve been home three weeks now,” he tells Ulfric. “Do you  think maybe we should discuss what you did ?” 

Truthfully, Ulfric is surprised he’d let it go this long. “I don’t know what there is to  discuss .”

“You’re in it too deep now,” Galmar continues steadily. “I sincerely hope you don’t plan on backing out.”

Ulfric stares contemplatively at his dinner, scrambled chicken’s eggs and salted beef. “I’d never dream of doing that. You should know better  than to think I would allow Elenwen to continue to walk free.”

“You need to be one hundred percent committed, Ulfric , or this is going to fail miserably. The people are counting on you .”

“I know that,” he responds, raising his gaze. “Sometimes fire burns things to ash. Sometimes it tempers them, hones them and makes them stronger. My resolve has never been greater than it is now.”

“As long as you can assure me that Skyrim is what you’re fighting for.”

“I think there’s something you’re missing here, old friend,” Ulfric says softly. “Fighting for Halfdan  _ is  _ fighting for Skyrim. I can only have him safe if we have a free home to come back to when it’s all over.”

Galmar holds his gaze for several moments. “Didn’t expect you to have changed so much this late in your life.” Ulfric can’t tell for certain, but he thinks Galmar is pleased. 

“Old dogs, eh? Maybe you should go out and try to find it, too.”

Galmar scoffs good-naturedly. “The kind of woman who would take me doesn’t exist.”

“That’s for sure,” Yrsarald huffs. 

“We all fight for our own reasons,” Ulfric allows. “My devotion to Skyrim is no less just because I lo... “ 

Galmar and Yrsarald raise their left eyebrows in eerie unison. 

“This is ridiculous,” Ulfric mutters, feeling his face flush when the others laugh at him. 

“Oh! Speak of the devil!” Yrsarald cries, delighted by the timing. “We didn’t think you’d be joining us tonight.”

_ Gods, please don’t let him have overheard that, _ Ulfric thinks, ashamed. 

Halfdan takes the only empty seat left on the other side of the room and scoots it over next to Ulfric. “I won’t be here long, I’m afraid.”

“Better things to do, eh?” Galmar asks.

“I’ve got an appointment with the healers,”  he says in an excited voice. “ Trying to clear me for... “ His gaze snaps up at the others and his mouth shuts audibly. “That is, they’re just making sure I’m okay for, uh, normal activities.”

Yrsarald and Galmar give Ulfric knowing looks. He studiously avoids their regard even as his mind travels to the possibilities. Three weeks without sex has been difficult. It’s one thing when Halfdan is out on some adventure or another, but having him in his bed and in his arms every night has done nothing good for the state of Ulfric’s balls. 

“Oh, two or three times a day!” Halfdan laughs. “He can’t keep his paws off of it.”

“Enough,” Ulfric growls, giving Halfdan a warning glare.

Galmar downs the last of his mead and stands up, wordlessly offering to take everybody’s plates. “He’s never been any different. I shared a tent with him for years; I would know.”

Ulfric scowls at his back, but Halfdan draws him out of it with a gentle tug on his wrist. “Hey.”

Ulfric looks into Halfdan’s blue eyes and falls in love all over again. How had he never let himself think those words before? “Hey, yourself.”

“I’ll see you in an hour,” Halfdan says pointedly.

Ulfric can’t help but kiss him. He tries to keep it soft and company-appropriate; poor Yrsarald is still in the room, looking decidedly uncomfortable. But he’s sick of giving up every opportunity to tell Halfdan how he feels. Maybe it’s time to grab the dragon by the scales and hold on for dear life. 

Halfdan looks dazed when Ulfric pulls back, shocked in the best way. He grins, and Ulfric can’t help but return it. 

“An hour.”

Galmar and Yrsarald bid him a good night. Even though he’s got time, it’s hard not to rush up to their suite.

As it is, Halfdan is thrown against the door the instant it closes.

“Ulfric… Talos, you are a bear,” he gasps. “What if I wasn’t in the clear?”

“I don’t care,” Ulfric mutters into his collarbone before biting the corded muscle of his shoulder. “I can’t wait. Halfdan… “ 

He does his best to ignore the pounding of his heart, the fire flowing through his veins, molten and desperate, instead choosing to be a man of action, lifting Halfdan up in his arms and depositing him on the bed. Halfdan squirms underneath him, but Ulfric holds him down as tightly as he dares. Halfdan can hardly move but he doesn’t seem to mind, either, pupils blown wide and entirely focused on him: Ulfric, high king of Skyrim and the man humbled to be permitted to love this being so wholly and completely. 

It’s always been a chore to move slowly when Ulfric’s blood’s up like this, but Halfdan deserves better than his usual quick-and-dirty preparations, no matter how much he claims to love it. Even so, it’s difficult not to swallow Halfdan’s cock in one go. Ulfric wants to taste-hear-see-smell-feel him for fucking  _ days. _

Haldan hasn’t been permitted any ‘extracurricular’ activities since he’s gotten home, and he arches off the bed when Ulfric takes the head of his cock in his mouth. Erratic, shaking fingers bury themselves in his hair as Ulfric goes down on his husband as slowly as he can stand to. Halfdan’s already leaking onto his tongue, making noises the likes of which Ulfric has never heard even from Halfdan’s prodigious mouth.

“Ulf… Ulfric,” he repeats like a litany, occasionally breaking into strings of curses that would make even the daedra blush. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna… “

Ulfric ignores the fingers gripping and pulling on his hair and instead swallows Halfdan to the hilt. Halfdan thrashes his hips and comes in Ulfric’s mouth, jet after jet of semen that Ulfric allows to land, bitter, on his tongue. He kisses Halfdan senseless, letting Halfdan taste himself, and smiles at the calm, satiated look on his lover’s face.

“Round one,” Ulfric murmurs against Halfdan’s lips. “How many do you think you’ve got in you?”

“I imagine you’ll pull out as many as you can regardless of my answer,” Halfdan responds with a tired chuckle. 

Ulfric pulls back to look at him. Blue eyes regard him with the same adoration they have since that fateful day in Helgen three years ago. He smooths the wrinkles on Halfdan’s face, inadvertently tickling him and making him laugh. 

Ulfric doesn’t laugh, though. Ulfric  is utterly starstruck, and he absorbs this moment with every fiber of his being. 

Halfdan stops giggling and smiles up at the king, soft and happy. Ulfric lets him push him off and down, switching places so that Halfdan is sitting astride him. 

“You are hard as a diamond. Think I should take care of that?” he asks, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Ride me,” Ulfric whispers, still lost in  wonder . 

“You’ve never let me do that before.”

“I am now.”

Ulfric’s desire hasn’t cooled in the slightest, but  right now he wants nothing more than to see Halfdan in full flight, working off the excess energy that’s built up over his long convalescence at his own pace. 

And Ulfric can’t take his eyes off of him. Halfdan blushes at his regard, cock twitching valiantly. Ulfric had never understood why his gaze had always driven Halfdan wild - neither of them had, but it does, and that shyness only adds to Halfdan’s allure. He is  _ so _ beautiful, his brown hair having grown a bit past his shoulders, lean body so small in comparison to Ulfric’s bulk despite his not-inconsiderable strength. His skin is unblemished, smooth and creamy like he’s made of ceramic, carved by the gods themselves - and maybe he had been. He is dragonborn, champion of Akatosh, and Ulfric is honored beyond words to be the only man who gets to see him fall apart like this. 

Even after putting on a show of preparing himself, Haldan’s still soft when he sinks down on Ulfric’s cock. Ulfric has to bite his lip and picture Galmar’s ugly face to avoid thrusting all eight inches of his length into his lover. He wants Halfdan to control the pace for once, to bank the fire so it lasts, to selfishly take his pleasure from Ulfric - not that it’s a hardship. 

Halfdan sighs in bliss once he’s fully seated on Ulfric’s lap. He grabs Ulfric’s hand and places it on his lengthening cock, then leans back against Ulfric’s thighs and starts a slow, steady rhythm. Ulfric strokes him in unison, ignoring his own rising need in favor of his husband’s. 

It’s different, going slow like this. Ulfric had never been a patient man, and sex had never been an exception to that rule. Not that he’s a bad lover, or so he’s been assured, but  _ Gods _ does he love to let go in pursuit of that ecstasy. It’s a little like going to battle. Some men say the anticipation is where they find the most pleasure, in both war and sex, but it’s never been like that for him - nothing compares to swinging his axe and laughing as his enemies fall, lost in glory and righteous cause. It’s the same with his lovers; he loves seeing them fall to pieces from the strength of his passion.

But this… it’s like the steep approach of a mountain, so much work to just hang on tight to each hand hold, to finish the climb in one piece… but the view makes it all worthwhile. There’s no race to the top now, just the two of them enjoying the climb for what it is, and more importantly enjoying the fact that they’re in it together. 

Halfdan increases the pace after a while, and Ulfric joins in, unable to help himself, thrusting his own hips up to meet Halfdan’s. He desperately tries to hold on as Halfdan gets closer to his climax, wanting to avoid orgasm until Halfdan comes a second time. He grips Halfdan’s cock in his big hand, jerking him in earnest now. Halfdan stares down at him with wide, adoring eyes. 

“Come, Halfdan,” Ulfric urges tightly. “Paint me with it. Mark me.”  _ Mark me as yours. _

Halfdan throws his head back and shudders as he comes all over Ulfric. There’s less of it than the first time, but still quite a bit. Ulfric waits to establish eye contact again, then gathers some on his index finger and sucks it into his mouth. The look of surprise and wonder on Halfdan’s face is almost too much; he grabs Halfdan’s hips and thrusts once, twice, and lets loose inside him. 

They’re both exhausted and satisfied, but Ulfric isn’t quite done yet. He lets Halfdan rest for a while, though, head on Ulfric’s shoulder, breath slowing bit by bit. It’s starting to get cold, the wind whipping the snow outside his window like a tangible thing even in their well-insulated suite. Halfdan pulls the furs up around them and snuggles close.

“Thank you,” Halfdan murmurs after a time. 

“For what?”

“For… letting me do that.” There’s more he isn’t saying. “For letting your guard down enough to give me control. I’ll never forget tonight.”

“Oh, I’m not done with you,” Ulfric says, low and clever. “Not yet.”

Halfdan groans into his armpit. “We’re not young anymore, you know.”

Ulfric responds by rolling over until he’s on top of Halfdan and kissing him, half-hard cock poking his hip. It’s a slow, deep kiss, their tongues teasing each other, Ulfric’s way of saying he doesn’t give a dragon’s ass how old they are. Halfdan’s blood calls to him and always has, and age is nothing but a number in the face of that. 

Halfdan spreads his legs in invitation, nudging Ulfric until he’s comfortably settled between them. It’s habit for them now, the way they know each other’s bodies, the way they slide so easily together. 

Ulfric lifts one of Halfdan’s legs over his shoulder and wraps the other around his hip. Halfdan’s still loose from before and Ulfric enters him effortlessly. They both groan with the slight overstimulation. Halfdan is soft and not likely to get hard again for quite some time, but Ulfric feels a need rising in him that is more than just physical, and it drives him to make every thrust, every kiss and groan and every gods-damned millisecond count. 

Just looking at Halfdan, eyes half-closed and face relaxed, so gods-damned gorgeous underneath him, makes something in his heart unfurl. He feels vulnerable, open and joyous, like the sun shining through the clouds after the long months of winter, bathing everything in heat and light and beauty. 

“This is what I’m fighting for,” he whispers against Halfdan’s lips. Now that it comes down to it, the words are easy. Why had he waited this long? “ _ You _ , Halfdan. You are what matters most to me in the whole world.”

Halfdan closes his eyes all the way. His face scrunches up with something like grief. “I know,” he says. Ulfric traces the track of a tear with his finger. 

“Do you love her more than me?” he asks, throwing fear and caution to the wind, knowing that Halfdan will understand what the question means -  _ I’m with you. _

“I’m yours,” Halfdan responds, absolutely gutted. “I always was, you have to know that.  Not even Sovngarde can come close, I swear it. ” 

Ulfric rests his forehead against Halfdan’s, breathes into his mouth for a moment, letting the words fill his heart with joy. Letting himself feel it for once in his life. 

Then he takes the plunge. 

“I love you.” 

It doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like flying.

His climax starts in his toes, little tingles that travel up, firing every pleasurable nerve in his body. He’s aware of his body so wholly and completely, the twitching of his cock as he releases, the way Halfdan shudders underneath him in response. The hot, salty tears flowing down his own face now. The pleasure seems to go on, endless, these moments among the most poignant of his life. 

When it’s finally over, he feels exhausted down to his marrow. He avoids collapsing on top of Halfdan lest he find himself unable to get up again, instead falling to the side and pulling Halfdan with him. 

There’s no need for words. Ulfric feels wrung out and hollow, and he can’t imagine Halfdan feeling differently. His priorities really have changed, and he imagines the two of them will need to talk about the future again soon, though this time, Ulfric thinks the conversation will go much more smoothly than it has in the past. The future is wide open for them now, the possibilities endless. 

They’re going to win this thing, rid the world of Elenwen and her kind, and then they will adopt an heir, teach him how to rule… And maybe, just maybe, Ulfric will retire. He’d once told Galmar that true peace would drive him from the world, and that he would accept such an end happily. He’d just never thought such a thing possible. 

But maybe he was wrong. 


	4. Chapter 4

Halfdan approaches the dais where the black book rests. His turn with the seekers hasn’t gone too badly, as much as he hates the damn things, but the real test is ahead of him. He’s not nervous, though; Talos has his back, and Akatosh chose him for a reason. It’s the least he can do to prove himself worthy. 

And just as he’d thought, the old bag appears in front of him as soon as he reaches for the book.  _ Daedra are so boring and predictable, _ he thinks, standing his ground in the face of madness. 

_ So there you are _ , Hermaeus Mora says to him, the delight clear in his voice. _ I hear my previous disciple’s champion gave you a little bit of… trouble.  _

“I’m here to make you a bargain.” 

_ Right to the point, I see. Bad memories? Surely there are no hard feelings.  _

“His soul for mine.”

_ And what makes you so sure I wasn’t lying to him?  _

“You hedged your bet. I’m not a fool.”

_ Hmm. So you’re pledging me your soul on a maybe? I don’t think you know what the word ‘fool’ means, in that case. _

Halfdan wants to laugh. He’s not going to reveal his trump card - he’s not clever enough to avoid some of the tricks the daedra could play on him, assuming they could even do so. 

“Are we agreed?” he asks, sounding bored. 

_ Another dragonborn freely offers himself in eternal servitude and then wants to know if I agree? What a silly question! Do I need to answer it or do you think you can use your single brain cell to add two and two together? _

“Then we’re agreed. Now give me what I came for and fuck off.”

_ Suit yourself. You’ll see me again soon enough _ . Mora chuckles and disappears into the ether of Apocrypha. 

Halfdan can only grin as he opens the book again. There’s nothing quite like a good bargain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the handful of you who have stuck with me and read this fic. I did not intend for it to be so damn long, but there had to be feelings because... well, it's me? I dunno. 
> 
> Anyway, kudos would be appreciated on my little pool noodle. I'd like to keep it afloat for a while and finish the other two fics I want to write in the series. Comments give me life. 
> 
> <3


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